The Better Path
by Petronius
Summary: Plagued by guilt, Buffy vows to free Angel from the Demon Dimension by striking a deal with the Angel of Death himself. The price, her soul. A season 3 thriller with a shattering finale.
1. Chapter 1

**_The Better Path, Part 1_**_  
by Gaius Petronius_

**DISCLAIMER:** Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all the characters that appear on the show are the exclusive property of Joss Whedon, Fox and Mutant Enemy, Inc. I only borrow them, mess with their heads, make them cry and every now and then, torture them.

**RATING:** This part is okay for everyone.

**A Note at the Beginning:** Written originally as a script in the fall of 1998, The Better Path first appeared on the original Slayer Fanfic Archive but has long been unavailable. The story with its shattering finale created quite a stir on the SFA so I've taken some time to novelize it for a new group of readers.

The Better Path is a different take on early season 3. Buffy has returned to Sunnydale after running away to LA, but her life at home is still a disaster, her interactions with the other Scoobies tentative at best and her attempt at a normal relationship with Scott Hope has failed miserably. Plagued with depression, she cannot shake the guilt tormenting her for sending Angel into the Demon Dimension. She becomes determined to free him, even if it means striking a deal with the Angel of Death Himself. The price, her soul.

**_The Better Path  
by Gaius Petronius_**

"Wherefore, O Judges, be of good cheer about death, and know this of a truth - that no evil can befall a good man, either in life or after death. He and his are not neglected by the Gods; nor has my own approaching end happened by mere chance."

Socrates speaking in the "Apologia" - Plato

**PROLOGUE - One Final Charge**

Munich, Germany - 1891

Darkness bathed the study of Dr. Anton Furtwangler save for the splashes of light cast from one large glass domed kerosene lantern. The room was dark to begin with, paneled in heavy rich mahogany. Towering bookshelves lined the walls. A floor to ceiling window, its curtains drawn back to reveal the moonlight spilling across the outer grounds, overhung a massive wooden desk. On a wall facing the window, the fireplace with fire roaring spilled bizarre shadows across the chamber.

Dr. Furtwangler, Professor of Archeology at the University of Munich, stood behind the desk in front of a large chair. His lean six foot plus frame was stooped from age and frail with advanced disease. Although his hands had a slight tremor, his blue eyes sparkled, evidence of a mind still sharp and alert. He was dressed in nightclothes and a heavy woolen robe that hung open as if he were oblivious to the evening chill.

His health had rapidly deteriorated since his return from the failed expedition to the Sinai, and his housekeeper, Helena, always kept the fire burning hot. As if there hadn't been enough heat in the blasted rock strewn desert he had wandered for close to six months. There his 1890 expedition had come up empty handed in a fruitless search for the camp of the wandering tribes of Israel on their flight from Egypt.

Then word arrived from Cairo via a Bedouin messenger that his beloved wife Anya had passed away back in Germany and that Munich was cutting off the expedition's funding. It seems the digs had not produced enough gold artifacts to satisfy the University Board. Pottery shards and ancient manuscripts stirred no interest. Since there was little gold, there would be no more money.

And now he had returned to a dark, empty home.

On the desk in front of him lay scattered papers and a small collection of what appeared to be individual sheets of parchment. Some were curled as if they had been rolled up like scrolls. Others sat flat on the desk. Next to the pile was a modest wooden box without a top. Dr. Furtwangler bent down and gently placed the single sheets of parchment, one at a time, into the box. When he had finished, he dropped, exhausted, into the chair behind the desk and sat motionless. His breathing was slow and labored.

Helena flew into the study, her piercing voice overwhelming the gentle crackle of the fire.

"Herr Doctor! What are you doing out of your bed! Your physician specifically ordered you . . ."

"Stop fussing. I'm fine, Helena," he interrupted.

"You are not fine, sir!" she snapped back, "You'll be the death of yourself . . . and me as well! You must return to your bed immediately! Your son will be home in three days and he can take care of all these filthy old papers."

Furtwangler held one sheet of dusty parchment. It shivered with his trembling hand.

"I'll just be a moment more. I must finish up a few things with these documents."

"Always it's papers!" she complained, "These dirty old scraps, look at the mess they make of your desk. Honestly, Herr Furtwangler, I don't know what you see in all these filthy things!"

The Professor stared sadly out the window into the moonlight.

"They are the last records of the past, Helena," he said quietly as if attempting to justify to himself a lifetime's work, 'The marks on these manuscripts often are the final surviving manifestations of a writer's soul. When these tiny symbols are gone . . ."

"Pfoo!" Helena snapped, "If you ask me, it's all the past and the past is dead. And you will be too, if you don't return to your bed!"

"Helena . . . in a few moments," he replied firmly, "Stop back in five minutes and I'll be done."

"Well, five minutes then and not one second more!"

Helena swept out of the study. Furtwangler leaned forward on the desk and drew out a sheet of writing paper. He reached for a pen and bottle of ink. Slowly with a shaking hand he wrote.

"My Dearest Wilhelm,  
In case your arrival is delayed or if I must depart this life before I see you, it is urgent I share these last instructions. Most of my affairs you should find in good order. One final item, however, requires immediate attention. I am concerned about the manuscripts in the wooden box on my desk. They are Latin transcriptions of fragments from much older documents, possibly the Book of Thoth, The Book of the Dead, and the Luxor Necropolis Texts."

"Their contents are disturbing, apparently pieces of spells pertaining to soul transferal and pathways to the underworld. I know you do not share my concern for such things, but they could be dangerous if they fell into the wrong hands. I would ask you to forward them under safe seal to Dr. Theodore Momsen at the University of Heidelberg. I thank you for your diligence in this matter. There is nothing more to say. I await your arrival in hopes that this letter will prove unnecessary. If that is fated not to be the case, then I will remain eternally,

Your loving father,  
Anton Furtwangler"

Dr. Furtwangler leaned back in the chair, his breathing becoming more labored with each passing moment. He folded the letter and set it back on the desk. After a minute, he reached into his robe pocket and pulled out two small Egyptian scarabs. Neither were perfect specimens but rather cracked and damaged from the unkind centuries. Both however shone with a faint blue light that might have been a reflection from the flames in the fireplace.

Dr. Furtwangler held them in his open palm and gazed at their delicate carving.

"Farewell, little friends," he said peacefully, "I release you. I give you one final charge, to serve your next owner as faithfully as you have me."

Furtwangler placed the two scarab stones on the desk near the box of manuscripts. He breathed deeply, closed his eyes and leaned back in the chair once more. His head tipped forward as if he were falling asleep. The fire crackled in the fireplace, and the shadows danced across the bookshelves.

By mid morning two days later, the chair behind the desk sat empty but the ever present fire still burned in the fireplace. As if waiting patiently for the return of its owner, the box of manuscripts remained undisturbed on the desk. Visible outside through the window, a horse drawn hearse bearing a coffin enshrouded in flowers lingered in the driveway. Every once in a while, one of the horses pawed nervously at the frosty ground.

Helena burst into the study. Bustling about and straightening the furniture, she approached the desk and sighed in disgust. Brushing up the two little blue scarabs sitting loosely on the desk top, the housekeeper dropped them unceremoniously into a drawer. She then scooped into her arms all the loose papers including the letter Dr. Furtwangler penned to his son. With no regard for what she held, Helena tossed the entire armful into the fire. She then busied herself tidying up the study once more. Only the box of manuscripts, like a lonely sentinel, remained on the desk.

Outside, the hearse, followed by other carriages filled with mourners in black, rolled down the long driveway. The clop, clop, clop of the horses' hooves on the cobblestones and the grating sound of the iron rimmed hearse wheels on the stones pierced through the chill morning breeze. Slowly the hearse rounded a bend in the roadway and disappeared from view.

**Chapter 1 - The Richest Man in the World**

Rupert Giles was in his glory at the outdoor estate auction. Followed by Willow and Buffy, the Sunnydale High Librarian scurried amidst rows of tables stacked with household and miscellaneous items for sale. Attending the estate sale of one of southern California's most highly respected German families was Giles' idea of a hot time on the old town. It seemed a good way to distract Buffy from her mooning over the loss of Angel. At least Giles thought so.

Willow fell in immediately with the game plan and trudged dutifully beside Giles as she tried to bubble over this dispaly case and that item. Buffy, trailing behind, only scowled as she often did on patrol when she came upon a particularly stupid and inept vampire.

Bidding under the nearby tent was already in full swing. Crowds of potential bidders left over from the morning preview still browsed among the items tagged for auction and sale. Close to two hundred folding chairs were set up under the tent and almost all were now occupied by bidders. Every few minutes polite applause echoed from the tent as a significant item in the auction was knocked down for a premium price.

The more valuable pieces to be auctioned, among them locked glass cases filled with ancient jewelry and artifacts, were laid out closer to the tent. Giles paused at one table and began rooting through a plain wooden box of what appeared to be documents and pages torn out of old books.

Willow and Buffy kept on walking. Willow eagerly scanned all the locked cases while Buffy only yawned once more, topping it off with a particularly loud huff.

"I still can't figure out how you talked me into coming to this thing," the Slayer grumbled.

"Cause you were sitting at home moping," Willow said with a sarcastic edge to her voice, "You won't go out. You hardly even go to the Bronze anymore since you and Scott broke up. Faith says she even caught you doing your homework while you guys were out on patrol."

"That's not true!" Buffy answered defensively

"Oh yeah? Then how'd you get that history paper done on time?"

Buffy scowled and sulked.

"But everything here is like . . . old," she complained.

Willow paused and turned to her friend.

"You did the right thing . . . " she reassured the Slayer for what seemed like the hundredth time in the last week, "You gotta get your mind off Angel. He's really gone."

"And looking at people's old used junk is supposed to perk me right up?" Buffy answered, not taking the bait.

"Buffy, I saw some real cute guys under the tent," Willow grinned, "And there's some cool stuff here, too. You're not giving it a chance."

Buffy glanced back over her shoulder at Giles who was still rooting through the papers in the old container. A little puff of dust wafted up out of the box into his face.

"You mean Giles type stuff," Buffy said.

"No, there's supposed to be some really fabulous jewelry somewhere. I just can't find it."

Buffy sighed again. Finished examining the old documents, Giles brushed himself off and joined them at a table.

"Whatcha lookin' at back there?" Buffy asked as if her Watcher had found a cache of old well thumbed Playboys.

"Actually a rather interesting box lot of manuscript fragments," Giles answered, totally missing the tone in her voice.

"Looked like something you'd line the cat pan with," she said as she swept the remaining dust off the front of his tweed jacket with her hand.

"Are you gonna bid on it, Giles?" Willow asked, her voice trembling with excitement.

"I think so," he nodded.

"Oh!" Willow exclaimed as she spied a particular table, "There's what I was looking for! Come on, Buffy."

Buffy rolled her eyes as Willow worked her way through the crowd. The Slayer followed but lagged behind. She finally caught up to Willow who was gazing down at one of the glass cases.

"Hey, Will," Buffy said as she shoved her way in beside her friend, "I think I really wanna leave. I'm just not into this . . ."

Seeing the look on Willow's face, Buffy stopped in mid sentence. Her mouth hung open and her eyes were wider than saucers.

"Willow?"

Buffy followed Willow's gaze to the case and her mouth dropped open as well. Before them both were close to fifty lots of ancient jewelry. Shining back from under the glass were signet rings, necklaces of lapus lazuli, broaches, coins, medallions, ivory cameos and gold, everywhere the glint of gold and electrum in the morning sun. Buffy's swallowed hard.

"Oh . . . my . . . God . . ." she stammered.

Giles stepped up behind them. Buffy and Willow, transfixed by the jewelry, didn't even realize he was there.

"Quite stunning," the Watcher said softly in awe, "One of the last premier collections of the ancient jewelers' art still in private hands."

"Where did all this come from, Giles?" Buffy asked breathlessly, not taking her eyes off the case.

"This is the personal collection of Anton Furtwangler, Professor of Archeology at the University of Munich in the 1890's. His field of expertise was Greek and Roman jewelry and numismatics."

"'Nummie' what?" Buffy scowled.

"Coins."

"Oh."

"It's been kept intact by the family for over a hundred years. After Furtwangler's son, Willhem died in the early fifties, the family moved to California. Hans was the last surviving great grand nephew. This is all his estate. Furtwangler's library, manuscripts, notebooks, his collection, there's a lifetime of assembled artifacts and research here today . . . "

Giles paused, then continued with a touch of sadness in his voice.

". . . all going on the block to the highest bidder."

Buffy and Willow, their eyes still rivited to the jewelry case, paid little attention to Giles' ramblings.

"Oh! Buffy! Look at that one!" Willow gasped and pointed.

Buffy's eyes fell on the center of the case. There, glistening in the sunlight, lay a set of large gold earrings. The matching pair, roughly two inches in height, were each carved in the form of a two horse chariot manned by a driver clutching the reins in one hand and in the other holding a wreath of victory out over the charging stallions.

The intricacy of the gold work was breath taking. Details on the earrings were sharp and crisp down to the flowing gold waves of the galloping animals' manes and tails. To Buffy and Willow it seemed like they could see the look of exhaltation on the faces of the drivers as they held the electrum wreaths out over the necks of their victorious teams.

"I see you've both spotted the crown jewel of the collection," Giles nodded, "Magnificent gold work of the Hellenistic period. Possibly these hung on a temple statue of a goddess. They turned up on a dig outside of Alexandria."

"Oh . . . my . . . God . . ." Willow muttered as if she were in a daze.

"I already said that, Will," Buffy replied, unable to take her gaze off the case.

"I know . . ."

"Oh . . . my . . . God . . ." both stammered in unison.

Suddenly, Buffy turned to Willow.

"Will, how much money you got?" she asked urgently.

"Uh . . . about thirty-five dollars."

"I got three months allowance," Buffy continued, her mind running at full tilt.

Willow gave Buffy a sad smile and held up two fingers.

"Two months. Remember, you spent some of it on those shoes."

"Oh . . . yeah, well two months, but I think I still got fifty, fifty-five bucks left!"

Buffy rummaged in her coat pocket looking for her wallet. She found a wad of bills and showed them to Willow.

"Wow! I think that gives us eighty, ninety bucks between us!" she exclaimed, her enthusiasm growing, "We'll share 'em, Willow! I'll wear 'em, you'll wear 'em! And then we'll swop on weekends!"

Willow smiled sympathetically at Buffy, but her face was creased with skepticism.

"Okay, how do we bid on 'em, Giles?" Buffy turned to her Watcher, "Think we have enough?"

"I don't think so," he answered gently and without sarcasm, "I'm afraid you're probably between a hundred and a hundred twenty-five thousand short."

Buffy and Willow's mouths fell open again. The look of shock on Buffy's face was quickly replaced by one of disappointment. She stared down mournfully at the little fistfull of bills in her hand.

"Guess it wasn't such a hot idea to ditch Cordelia, huh?" she said.

"That's her Dad's credit card ya know," Willow said, putting the nail in the coffin. "Hey . . we did get to see them."

Buffy gazed back at the jewelry case.

"Willow's right you know," Giles said, trying to be cheery, "We were all fortunate today. Look at how beautiful they are."

The two charioteers and their horses glowed in the bright natural light.

"I'll tell you what. I'll pick up two copies of the auction catalog on the way out. I know they have some magnificent photographs."

"Thanks, Giles," Buffy said sadly.

"Follow me. I found something else I want you to see."

As all three walked away from the jewelry case, Buffy cast one last longing look over her shoulder.

At one of the outer tables, Giles stopped and picked up an open box filled with assorted small pieces of junk jewelry. Mixed in with the lot were some ancient pieces that appeared damaged, chipped or broken. He held the box out to Willow and Buffy.

"Take a look here. This may be more within your budget."

"What is it?" Willow asked.

"A box lot. A little of this, a little of that."

"Looks like a lot of junk to me," Buffy said crinkling her nose.

"Not necessarily. You take the good with the bad. But there are some beautiful old pieces mixed in. Like these."

Giles reached in and held out in his open palm a pair of small blue scarabs. One was cracked, the other chipped.

"Egyptian scarabs," he said answering Willow and Buffy's questioning looks, "They don't have much collector's value since they're flawed, but they still have a beauty all their own."

Giles examined them closely.

"Carefully mounted to conceal the defects, they would look lovely in a necklace."

Buffy took one out of Giles' hand and gazed at the soft blue stone.

"They are pretty," she said.

"And magic, too," her Watcher added softly.

Surprised, Willow and Buffy stared at Giles who was smiling.

"At least their original owners three thousand year ago believed them so . . . They wore them for protection from the spirits of evil. And who knows?"

"Yeah . . . who knows," Willow added, grinning as well, "Right Buffy?

"Right, . . . who knows," the Slayer nodded.

"Oh, Giles! Look, there's coins in here, too!" Willow exclaimed.

Willow scooped out three small copper coins, each about the size of a nickel. All were heavily corroded with only the faintest traces of a portrait remaining on each. Willow held them up for Giles to examine.

"Hhmm, they look like late Roman imperial issues," Giles said, squinting, "Maybe around 300 or 350 A.D. They're fairly common. Very little value in that condition."

Willow clenched the coins in her hand and stared off as if she were seeing something that Giles and Buffy couldn't. She spoke slowly and sadly to Giles.

"No . . . they were valuable, Giles," she said, ". . . a long time ago . . . to a family that had them."

Puzzled, Buffy stared at Willow, but Giles only nodded his head as if he understood what Willow was describing.

"They were poor," Willow said slowly as if she were remembering something from the distant past, "They didn't have much . . . and the baby girl was hungry, crying . . . so her father went to the market and sold his only heavy robe for three coins. He was so excited 'cause he could buy vegetables, . . . bread . . . and some warm fresh milk for his daughter. When he brought the milk home, and the baby stopped crying for the first time in days 'cause her tummy was full, . . . for a few minutes, . . . he thought he was the richest man in the world."

Willow held the coins tightly, her eyes glistening. She looked sadly back up at Giles and Buffy.

"They were valuable, Giles. Real valuable."

"Yes. I suppose they were," he agreed.

"How did you see all that, Will?" the Slayer asked quietly.

"In the last few weeks, since I've started studying spells and all . . ."

Giles tossed Willow a disapproving glance.

"I haven't been casting any, Giles! Really!" she protested half heartedly, "At least not since that time the toilet backed up, and my Mom made me clean up the bathroom."

Buffy grinned and Giles shook his head.

"No more power outages, Willow?" he asked as if he really didn't want to know.

"I swear, Giles! But . . . every once in a while I'll pick up something . . . something I've never seen before and holding it . . . I can see where it's been. And if it was a part of something important."

"It also could just be a very active imagination," Giles said.

"I don't think so," Willow answered, perplexed.

"Here, let me show you."

Giles slipped the coins out of her hand and rubbed them together in his palm. He closed his eyes as if he were conjuring up an image in his mind.

"Now, I see a beautiful young lady," he said, tipping his head towards Buffy and Willow, "Just about your age. She was sent to the market by her mother to purchase a jug of olive oil with three coins. But on her way she spotted the most beautiful pair of sandals, soft leather, with multicolored glass beads woven into the thongs."

Buffy frowned and rolled her eyes.

"You know the rest of the story," Giles finished smugly as he put the coins back in the box.

"Knock it off, Giles!" Buffy snipped.

"Do you like them? The scarabs?" her Watcher asked.

"Yeah . . ." she answered softly, almost to herself, as she admired the little blue stone in her hand.

"Good. My treat," Giles said at the same time signaling to a sales attendant standing at the table. "Items on this table are being sold outright?"

"Yeah, I think you got a price right on the bottom of the box," the attendant answered.

Giles tipped up the box and studied the sticker.

"I'll give you twenty for the lot," he said with a tone that clearly indicated this was the only offer he was going to make.

"Good enough. It's yours," the attendant replied, glad just to be clearing out some of the "junk" lots.

Giles passed a twenty dollar bill across the table and then handed the box to Buffy.

"Cool!" Willow bubbled as she started poking through the items in the box.

With the box lot cradled in one arm, Buffy held out the blue scarab in her free hand and gazed at it.

"You belong to me now," she said quietly as if speaking to the little stone alone, "I'll put you in a nice setting . . . you'll look so pretty."

Willow looked at Buffy and raised her eyebrows. Not seeing Willow's gaze, Buffy kept on speaking.

". . . and you'll keep your end of the bargain . . . you'll protect me?"

Buffy smiled to herself, clutched the little blue scarab in her hand and held her fist up to her lips, giving the stone a gentle kiss. It was only then that she spotted Willow's disbelieving stare.

"What?" the Slayer responded trying to brush off the seriousness of the moment, "With what I gotta do every night, I'm not allowed to talk to rocks?"

"You had me worried there for a moment," Willow said as she broke into an ear to ear grin.

"Nah! This little guy's gonna do the worrying for both of us," Buffy answered, holding up the little scarab in her hand.

Giles turned back towards the auction tent.

"If you want to join me," he called out over his shoulder, "Several of the lots I'm going to bid on are coming up."

"Okay," Buffy sang out, her mood lightened for the first time in days.

"Talking to rocks! Geez!" Willow said, shaking her head.

"And you didn't yell at the toilet when you screwed up that spell the other night!" Buffy answered as the two ran through the crowd after Giles towards the auction tent.

**Chapter 2 - The Left Bid**

Ethan Rayne lay slouched back in the badly worn reclining chair. He held a cell phone up to his ear. No features of the room were visible as the only source of illumination was one lone floor lamp with an incandescent bulb that directed all of its light downward.

The catalog for the Furtwangler estate auction lay in his lap, the booklet open to the last page which listed all the miscellaneous unpictured lots to be auctioned.

"Lot number 437. . .," Ethan said into the phone, his words carefully spoken, his tone patronizing and arrogant, "NO! FOUR THIRTY-SEVEN YOU IDIOT! Not four seventy-three! That's a box of bloody doilies! Will you look at the catalog, you little dimwit! . . . The manuscript fragments are what I want!"

Ethan sighed and shook his head in disgust.

"Right. Now listen carefully! My maximum bid is five hundred dollars. You got that? Five hundred and not one 'p' more! The damn things aren't worth half that," he snarled under his breath.

Ethan listened over the phone for a moment. At the same time he glanced at a small side stand sitting just on the edge of the darkness next to the recliner. A glass tumbler half full of amber liquid and its companion bottle of scotch were placed invitingly just within reach.

"Why do you have to make it so complicated!" he moaned as much to the Fates as to the caller, "It's a 'left' bid. Just give it to the auctioneer when the lot comes up! Trust me, he'll take it."

Ethan Rayne's voice took on a tone that was both sarcastic and threatening, one he used only when his will was being thwarted.

"Don't worry. The auctioneer _knows me_!"

Ethan listened again and sighed at what seemed like an endless stream of complaints.

"I know Ripper's there," he explained calmly, trying to hold back his exasperation, "He'll probably be the only other person bidding on it . . . I don't bloody care if the Slayer is with him! What's she going to do? Stake the auctioneer and grab the box? . . . So what if she sees you! Probably be for the better anyway. You really should try to get back in her good graces."

Ethan listened again, closed his eyes and marveled at the fact that all his dealings with the outside world were forever doomed to be via complete morons.

"Right, . . . right," he sighed, "Just call me to let me know how much I got it for, and I'll come down and pick it up after the auction."

Ethan snapped the cell phone shut and placed it on the side table obscured by the darkness. At the same time he eagerly swept up the tumbler and sipped from it slowly, savoring the bitter aromatic flavor as he stared at the catalog in his lap.

"Uhh, American youth . . ." he shook his head, "Ripper, I don't know how you can stand dealing with a whole generation of blithering idiots!"

Scott Hope pushed the off button on the cell phone he was holding and slipped it into his back pocket. He glanced nervously around the auction tent at the crowds of people jammed into the aisles and limited seating. The bidding was ongoing and brisk as prospective purchasers attempted to draw the auctioneer's attention by waving paper plates with their buyer numbers drawn in black marking pen.

Towards the front of the tent, Buffy and Willow slid through the standing crowd, down an aisle of folding chairs and found two empty ones next to Giles who was already seated. Willow craned her neck searching for familiar faces. Scott moved stealthily among the runners at the front of the tent.

"A word of warning," Giles announced to Buffy and Willow, "Don't raise your hand for anything! You could be mistaken for a bidder and become the proud owner of a gold plated bedpan. No waving at friends, not even to scratch an itch on the top of your head. Is that clear?"

"Ohh! Isn't that Scott?" Willow exclaimed to Buffy and pointed across the tent.

Giles furiously yanked Willow's arm down.

"Willow!" he growled under his breath.

"Sorry . . . " she said meekly as she turned to Buffy, "Well, isn't it?"

"Yeah . . . so?" the Slayer replied looking over the crowd but feigning indifference.

"I didn't know he hung out at these things? Maybe he's weirder than you thought," Willow joked.

Scott instantly realized he had been spotted. He quickly worked his way over to the Auctioneer. Before the Auctioneer could direct the runners to display the next lot, Scott slipped him a plain white envelope.

"This is a left bid," Scott said nervously, "For lot number four thirty-seven. It's from Mr. Rayne."

"Mr. Ethan Rayne?" the Auctioneer answered, staring at Scott and giving him a look that was laced with fear.

"Yeah, he said you'd know him,"

"Okay, yeah. Thanks, kid," the Auctioneer nodded, "I'll . . . I'll put it up right away."

Looking back around at Buffy, Scott cracked a faint uncertain smile and gave her a little wave. He then hurried off the auction platform and disappeared into the crowd.

"Buffy? What was that all about?" Willow asked, "I thought you two broke up?"

"I don't know," the Slayer replied frowning, "He's not working here, I know that."

Buffy, Giles and Willow watched the Auctioneer as he opened the envelope. The Auctioneer silently read the contents, then leaned up to the microphone.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he announced, his voice booming through the PA system, "The next item this afternoon is being taken out of numerical order. You will be bidding on lot number four thirty-seven . . . that's lot number four thirty-seven, the box of unattributed manuscript fragments. This lot is being sold 'as is.'"

"Oh, Giles, that's the one you want!" Willow said excitedly.

"Yes," Giles answered puzzled, "I suspect your friend there, Scott, has given the auctioneer a left bid."

"And that would be? . . . what? . . ." Buffy scowled again, this time a Giles, "As opposed to a 'right' bid?"

"A 'left' bid is a bid on a lot by a person who cannot attend the auction," Giles explained, slipping effortlessly into his teaching mode, ". . . Or wishes to remain anonymous. It has been 'left' with the auctioneer. It's the maximum amount the bidder is willing to pay. Only the auctioneer knows the amount and everybody else is bidding against the left bid without knowing how much it is."

"I wonder who Scott's doing it for?" Willow asked.

"Who would want your dirty old papers, Giles?" Buffy quipped.

Giles was silent for a moment.

". . . Ethan . . . " he muttered but then shook his head, "No, there are people from all over the country here. Could be anybody."

"Are we ready to begin?" the Auctioneer announced over the microphone to the crowd. "This is for lot number four thirty-seven, the box of unattributed documents."

Giles tightened his grip on his paper plate.

"Here we go," he said with relish.

Buffy and Willow glanced at each other and settled into their chairs as if they are preparing for a roller coaster ride. This was a side of Giles they had never seen.

"I'll begin the bidding at fifty dollars," the Auctioneer announced, speaking rapid fire, "Do I have fifty dollars?"

Hands holding paper plates with bidder numbers popped up all through the crowd under the tent. Giles was among them.

"I have fifty everywhere!" the Auctioneer continued, "Do I see one hundred? One hundred dollars?"

Half of the hands holding the paper plates dropped as the bid rose. Giles still held up his bidder number.

"I have one hundred dollars, do I have one hundred fifty? I'm looking for one hundred fifty."

Most of the hands were now lowered. Only Giles and two other bidders kept their paper plates elevated.

"The bid is one fifty, do I have two hundred? Do I have two hundred? Two hundred dollars for the manuscripts? I'm looking for two hundred."

The other bidders dropped out. Only Giles remained. His hand holding the plate went down. As the Auctioneer continued to raise the bid, his eyes were glued on Giles awaiting Giles' signal whether he was willing to meet the bid.

"The bid is two hundred. And now I have two fifty, the bid is now two fifty," the Auctioneer announced as his eyes were fixed on Giles, "Do I have three hundred? I'm looking for three hundred."

"How can it go up?" Buffy complained, "Nobody's bidding against us!"

Giles gave the Auctioneer a nod indicating he was willing to raise the bid.

"It's the left bid we're competing against," he said under his breath to Buffy and Willow.

"I have three hundred. I have three hundred. Now I have three fifty. I now have three fifty," the Auctioneer shouted, waiting for another signal from Giles, "The bid is now three hundred fifty, do I have four hundred? I'm looking for four hundred."

Giles, his face steely and almost immobile, gave the Auctioneer the faintest nod. Buffy and Willow, both their mouths open, stared at Giles.

"I see four hundred. The bid is four hundred. I now have four fifty. The bid is now four hundred fifty," the Auctioneer still stared at Giles, "Do I have five hundred? I have four fifty, do I have five hundred? I'm looking for five hundred."

For a moment, Giles glanced down, thinking. His face remained expressionless. He slowly looked back up at the Auctioneer and almost imperceptibly shook his head. The Auctioneer spotted the signal and turned to the rest of the crowd under the tent.

"The bid is now at four hundred and fifty. I am looking for five hundred."

"Giles? You're quitting?" Buffy asked, incredulous that her Watcher wasn't going to win the bidding.

"I just don't have the money," he answered humbly, shaking his head.

"No credit cards?" Willow asked.

Giles gave Willow a look that said "credit what?" Buffy glanced down, discouraged. Her eyes fell on the little box of jewelry in Willow's lap. Amidst the junk, the two scarabs stood out, their blue color almost glowing, even under the shade of the tent. As Buffy stared at them, a thought came to her in an instant. She suddenly turned to Willow.

"I'm looking for five hundred dollars," the Auctioneer barked with finality, "Are we all done at four fifty? Are we all done at four hundred and fifty dollars?

"Willow! Gimme your money! Quick!" Buffy demanded as she rummaged through her own pockets.

"What?"

"Gimme your money!"

Willow emptied some bills out of her purse. Buffy grabbed them and wadded them together with a fistful she pulled from her own jacket pocket.

"Are we all done at four hundred fifty? Four fifty going once! Going twice!"

Buffy ripped the paper plate out of Giles' hand and leaped to her feet, waving the bidder number and her fistful of money.

"Five Hundred Twenty-five Dollars!" she shouted.

There was an audible gasp in the tent among the crowd. All heads including the Auctioneer's turned to look at her.

"Buffy!" Giles protested.

"That was my thirty-five bucks!" Willow howled.

"We bid five hundred twenty-five!" Buffy announced firmly.

"The bid is now five hundred and twenty-five dollars," the Auctioneer said hesitantly as he faced the rest of the crowd, "Do I hear five hundred and fifty? The bid is five hundred and twenty-five. Do I hear five hundred and fifty? Five hundred and twenty-five. Five hundred and twenty-five going once!"

"I guess that knocked out whoever Mr. Sneaky was," Buffy said smugly to Giles.

"I . . . I . . . I guess so . . ." her Watcher said, happy but flustered.

"Five hundred twenty-five going twice! . . . SOLD! For five hundred twenty-five dollars to the young lady, bidder number . . .?"

A light round of applause echoed in the tent as Buffy held up Giles' paper plate for the Auctioneer to see the bidder number.

"Number two fifty-eight! Bidder number two fifty-eight. Thank you."

"Buffy! I'm broke! We're both broke!" Willow cried out distressed.

"I'll share my peanut butter sandwiches with you next week," the Slayer grinned, at the same time nudging Giles in the shoulder, "Besides, Gilesy here is good for it."

"Well, actually, not until next Thursday," replied hesitantly as he fussed with his glasses, "I'm embarrassed to say, now I'm broke, too."

"That's okay. It's not like we don't know where to find you when it's time to collect!"

Ethan Rayne sat back in the old beat up recliner. In one hand, he held the cell phone to his ear, in the other the tumbler half full of liquor. He slugged back a mouthful of the scotch, then spoke over the phone.

"No, I'm not mad at you," he said with resignation, "Not this time anyway. There'll be plenty of other chances for that. This one was my own fault."

He flipped the cell phone shut and tossed it on the table at the edge the darkness.

"Ripper, Ripper. . ." he complained while studying the empty glass in his hand, "Besides being a general annoyance . . . you're making me run up my liquor bill."

* * * * * * 


	2. Chapter 2

**THE BETTER PATH - part 2  
by Gaius Petronius**

Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all the characters from the show are the exclusive property of Joss Whedon, Fox, and Mutant Enemy. None of the characters belong to me except Anson MacDuffie. I just borrow them, mess with their heads, make them cry and every now and then, torture them

**Chapter 2 - "Our Own Private Place"**

"There! Now we can get started," Giles announced with triumph as he dropped the wooden box of manuscripts on one of the library tables with a bang. A cloud of dust billowed up out of the box. Standing behind, Willow gagged on the storm of particles while Buffy waved her hand to blow away the swirling cloud .

"Willow! I don't want to do this!" the Slayer whined for what seemed like the thirtieth time since they left the auction on the grounds of the Furtwangler estate, "We've got a weekday off with no school!"

"Buffy, you're staying with me today," Willow answered firmly, "I'm not letting you go off moping in the cemetery again."

"I'm not going to the cemetery," Buffy muttered with a guilty pout.

"Then you're sneaking off to the old mansion."

"Am not!" the Slayer protested more vigorously this time, "I can't stand that place."

"Oh, yeah, right! That's why Faith says she found you there four times last week!"

Trapped in her lie, Buffy scowled and struggled to avoid looking Willow directly in the eyes.

"Willow's right you know," Giles chimed in as he began lifting the dusty manuscripts out of the wooden box, "The only thing that's going to heal this is time . . . and keeping your mind busy."

"Buffy, . . . you can't keep going there," Willow said as gently as she could, "What are you going to do when they finally tear the place down next week?"

Buffy stalked away and sat down at another table piled high with uncatalogued books. Not to be put off, Willow joined her. She leaned forward and spoke quietly to the Slayer.

"Buffy . . . you have to accept it. You did the right thing with Angel . . . What happened was my fault. I never should have tried that spell again."

Buffy glanced up from the table at Willow. Her friend's red hair shown brightly in the shaft of sunlight pouring in from the library's upper windows.

Willow took a deep breath as she continued on the painful subject. She had to. Someone had to snap the Slayer out of her blue funk.

"You have to carry the pain for sending him to Hell. That part's yours, I can buy that. But restoring his soul, him recognizing what you were doing to him . . . I'm to blame for that, not you. I'm not going to let you carry that one. That's mine, . . . forever."

Buffy let her words sink in and finally nodded.

"I know. I know . . . " she answered quietly, "Thanks, Willow."

"Come on, let's help Giles," Willow replied all perky again.

"In a sec. I just wanna sit here and veg for a bit."

"Okay. Sure you're all right?"

"Yeah," Buffy nodded wondering whether she had convinced Willow.

Willow rejoined Giles who was busy drawing the old manuscripts one at a time out of the wooden box. He carefully spread them out on the large table top, taking particular care with one rolled up scroll. As he gently uncurled the delicate parchment, he signaled for Willow to place a pair of books at one end to hold the tips flat.

"Set the books at the head of the paper so it won't curl back," Giles said pointing without raising his head from the dusty document.

Quickly, Willow did as she was instructed. Giles placed another book at the bottom of the scroll, the weight of which kept it unrolled. Both he and Willow studied the now open manuscript. Remarkably clear writing flowed across the unrolled parchment.

At her own table, Buffy paid no attention to Willow and Giles. It seemed that more and more over the last few weeks Willow was being drawn into the arcane world inhabited by Buffy's Watcher. Giles was even trying to teach Willow some rudimentary Latin. All of which was desperately boring to the Slayer.

Instead, she absent mindedly poked at the covers of the stack of books in front of her. A large brown volume, whose heavy cover was embossed with pictures and gold inlay, caught her attention. As she pulled it towards her, Buffy realized the pages were all edged with gilt. She spotted the title struck in gold on the cover, "Dante's Inferno."

At the other library table, Willow stared intently at the writing on the manuscript in front of them.

"It's in Latin. What is it, Giles?' she asked.

"I'm not sure," Giles answered rubbing his forehead at the same time, "But if it's what I suspect, it's quite a find."

"Hey, Giles," Buffy called out, "Who's Dante?"

"Who?" Giles sputtered, looking up distracted from the manuscript, "Dante? A fourteenth century Italian poet. Dante Alighieri."

"Oh, . . . so what's his Inferno?"

At first Giles didn't respond. Then, realizing he had been asked a question, he called over to Buffy while at the same time trying to study the manuscript.

"Hmm? . . . Oh, you've found the Dante Inferno I purchased. Fabulous 19th century edition. The Gustave Dore engravings are stunning."

"But what is it?" Buffy asked, her voice now pleading for attention.

Giles glanced up briefly from the parchment in front of him.

"One of the great works of European literature. It's his vision of a journey to the underworld."

"Ooh, Giles!" Willow interrupted, pointing to a spot in the manuscript, "Look at how funny they made those letters!"

Giles turned back to the manuscript once more.

"But what's it about, Giles?" Buffy asked as she realized she was losing her Watcher's attention.

Giles didn't answer. Busily he ran his finger up and down the lines of text in the manuscript with Willow following his motions. Discouraged, Buffy looked back to her own table and opened the massive volume.

Turning to the title page, she stopped and stared at the black and white steel engraving of the poet himself. The visage of Dante in the Dore rendering glared up sternly as if warning the reader, "turn these pages only if you dare behold the terrors I have seen!"

Buffy's eyes widened as her hand slowly moved to flip the page to The Vision of Hell, Canto I. She began to read the English translation quietly to herself using her finger to help her keep her place in the text.

"In the midway of this our mortal life," she began slowly and softly,  
I found me in a gloomy wood, astray  
Gone from the direct path . . ."

She stopped in mid sentence and closed her eyes. Now before her stood Acathla and Angel on the edge of the whirling vortex in the old mansion. She could almost hear the roar again and the skin on the back of her neck prickled.

Giles leaned back from the table and slowly paced away from the manuscript he and Willow were studying. He placed his hand on his chin, halted a few feet from the table and stared off into space. Puzzled by his behavior, Willow watched but didn't interrupt his train of thought. He then turned to face her and shook his head.

"I don't understand it," he muttered.

"What?" Willow asked at the same time wondering whether she would ever be able to figure out the Watcher's obtuse and convoluted thought processes.

Buffy shook her head to drive the distressing image of Angel out her mind. "Keep your mind busy," she remembered her Watcher's admonition. Looking up from her book, she eavesdropped on Willow and Giles' conversation.

"It's clearly a Latin transcription of the Luxor Necropolis Text," Giles muttered in confusion and frustration as if he were having an out loud debate with a separate self in his mind.

"It's an addendum to the Ancient Egyptian Book of the Dead, something that was presumed lost for centuries . . . and here it is, not in the original hieroglyphic of course, but staring me right in the face. . . . But with the exception of the first two lines, the whole thing reads like nonsense. It's in Latin, but the Latin is gibberish."

"Latin usually is gibberish," Willow said meekly.

"It's supposed to be a spell and guidebook for the high priests of Osiris and the priestesses of Isis," he rambled on, ignoring Willow's remark, "A key to the underworld and the demon dimension. Hiero of Alexandria even claimed it contained formulas for exchanging souls between the mortal realm and the underworld. But Hiero was never a terribly trustworthy source. Much of his information was only second or third hand . . ."

"Giles!" Willow exclaimed.

Giles stopped, the expression of puzzlement clearly visible behind his gold rimmed glasses as he looked down at her.

"You're babbling," she said gently.

"Oh . . . sorry."

Giles strode back to the table and calmly resumed his perusal of the manuscript. Buffy returned to her book and slowly scanned the lines of The Vision of Hell. As she flipped the page, her eyes fell on another of the volumes' multitude of engravings. Before her, Dante and his guide, the Roman epic poet Virgil stood on the edge of a blasted forest under the dark stones of the gateway to Hell. Fearfully, Buffy read out loud the words carved in the black rock over their heads.

"Through me you pass into the city of woe:" she said quietly, her voice trembling slightly,  
Through me you pass into eternal pain . . .  
Before me, things created were none save things  
Eternal, and eternal I endure.  
All hope abandon ye who enter here."

Buffy stopped. Before her the whirling vortex behind Acathla seared her mind. She heard her own voice, echoing as if from some distant time, whisper to Angel..

"Close your eyes," it said tearfully.

She drew back the sword to plunge into Angel. The thrust came quickly, striking home amidst the swirl of nightmare colors from the vortex. Again she saw the look on his face.

As if struggling to wake from a nightmare, Buffy shook herself loose from the vision. She jerked up from the book to call desperately over to Giles for reassurance. Seeing both he and Willow were still preoccupied, she held back and hesitantly returned her attention to the volume in front of her.

Turning pages, she skipped dozens at a time. Several of the Dore engravings flashed by. Their depictions of souls in the torment of Hell caused Buffy to turn away from the dark images. Suddenly one opened in front of her, virtually leaping off the page. It reached out and seized her mind. She wanted to close her eyes and turn away, but no matter how hard she tried, she was pulled relentlessly toward the haunting image before her.

In the stark black lines of the steel engraving lay the shape of a naked man, nailed at hands and feet in cruciform fashion to the stone floor of the vision of Hell. By his broken body, Virgil and Dante stood contemplating his fate. Buffy, her voice shaking, read aloud the words of the Roman poet as he described the scene to Dante. Her eyes spread wide with horror and her mind reeled.

"'That pierced spirit, whom intent  
Thou view'st, was he who gave the Pharisees  
Counsel, that it were fitting for one man . . .  
To suffer for the people.'"

Again, the form of Angel hovered before her, now with the sword piercing his flesh as he slid back into the vortex behind Acathla. The last thing Buffy saw was the look of shock and accusation on Angel's face as he poured out of the mortal world into the demon dimension. Then all was quiet. She sat shaking in the Library once more. Breathing heavily, she looked up from the book before her and called out quietly.

"Giles."

Giles and Willow, still immersed in the Necropolis Text, gave no indication they heard.

"Giles!" she cried again.

"Buffy?" Giles answered, for the first time recognizing the fear and pleading in her voice.

"Buffy? What's wrong?" Willow exclaimed.

Both abandoned the manuscript and rushed to Buffy's side. Giles knelt down beside her and Willow slipped into a chair by her friend.

"What is it Buffy?" Giles asked.

She didn't answer at first.

"Buffy! Talk, . . . now!" Willow exclaimed using a tone of voice Xander liked to call "Willow Tough."

Buffy, her faced laced with despair, stared up at both of them.

"Giles, . . . ," she stammered, "For what I did to Angel . . . is there a special place for me? . . ."

She glanced back down indicating the engraving in front of her.

"Here . . . in Hell?"

For a moment, Giles looked at Buffy in shocked silence. Bewildered, he shook his head.

"What!"

"There," she repeated, pointing at the engraving.

Willow leaned forward and read the caption out loud.

"'That pierced spirit, whom intent  
Thou view'st, was he who gave the Pharisees  
Counsel, that it were fitting for one man . . .  
To suffer for the people.'"

Giles reached out and closed the book. Gently, he took Buffy by the shoulders and turned her to face him.

"Buffy, listen to me," he spoke earnestly and with all the reassurance he could command, "This book is not a literal description of the underworld. It is a political and social commentary by a very famous writer on his own times. It is not real."

"But, Giles . . ." she protested.

"It is not real! . . .," he interrupted firmly, and then thought for a moment. When he spoke again, his words came slowly and carefully as he prayed his distraught Slayer would somehow understand.

"Buffy, often times, Hell is really our own private place, deep in our minds. We create it . . . and we dwell there of our own free will, until we choose to take a better path and step back out into the world."

Buffy stared up at Giles as her Watcher hung his head and a faint sad smile crossed his face.

"I'm sorry, Buffy. I know I haven't been much help since Angel died. I should never have let . . ."

"No . . . Giles," Buffy interrupted, for the first time in days trying to say something from her heart, "You've been great. You both have. You're like my rock that I hang on to. You're always there."

Buffy's eyes glistened but she didn't cry.

"Don't ever leave," she said looking at Willow as well, "Either of you."

Willow wrapped her arms around the Slayer.

". . . never . . ." she whispered.

"Maybe this isn't the best activity for a free afternoon after all," Giles said apologetically as he fussed with his glasses, "You two go and find something frivolous to do."

"Yeah, . . . Hey, I have an idea," Willow beamed, "Let's go find some settings for those two blue stones we got at the auction."

"I could use a trip to the mall," Buffy sighed with relief as she wiped her eyes.

"You know, you might have more luck at Anson MacDuffie's shop downtown," Giles suggested once he had slipped his glasses back on.

"Oh yeah! He's got real cool stuff!" Willow exclaimed as she tried to build Buffy's flagging enthusiasm, "It's not like the mall. You have to give it a chance. But I think you'll like it."

Buffy and Willow leaped to their feet and, like untethered colts, bolted for the library door. Giles called after them before they could escape.

"Buffy . . . I want you to take the night off. Go to the Bronze. Let Faith handle patrol . . . do you hear me?"

"Yeah, gotcha," She shouted back over her shoulder.

In an instant, the two students disappeared through the library doors and were free. As their footsteps receded down the hallway, Giles stood alone beside the desk with the book of Dante's Inferno staring up at him. He shook his head.

"The idle brain . . ." he muttered to himself.

**Chapter 3 - The Prodigal Demon**

Anson MacDuffie's New Age Curiosity Shoppe was a dingy and disorganized establishment stuffed with shelves of small apothecary bottles filled with herbs, extracts, and essences. Books sat scattered around in no particular order. The countertop was a veritable mine field cluttered with shoe boxes, each one filled with a variety of polished stones, crystals and other less identifiable objects. A large manual cash register took up a large portion of the countertop while across the room several glass cases held assorted estate jewelry and small wooden cigar boxes overflowing with old tarnished coins.

MacDuffie sat behind the counter at a compact table fixed with a small bright jeweler's lamp . His tall frame was squeezed into an antique oak rolling office chair and every now and then he ran his long fingers through his thinning brown hair which flopped down across his forehead. His dark mustache was streaked with extensive splashes of grey, but his brown eyes sparkled beneath the jewelers magnifying visor he wore as he struggled to decipher the worn inscriptions on several old coins.

Buffy and Willow entered the shop hesitantly. A small mechanical bell hanging from the door clanged loudly announcing their presence. Willow still clutched the box of jewelry and odds and ends Giles had purchased at the auction. Oblivious, MacDuffie failed to look up from his task. Buffy stared around with deep misgivings at the counters, stands and dubious "merchandise."

"This is the place you were talking about?" she asked with raised eyebrows.

"Yeah, Mr. MacDuffie's got all kinds of old jewelry stuff. If anybody could find a setting for those stones, he can."

Buffy gazed back and forth, still not sure how she had gotten conned for the third time into going to a "Giles type" place. MacDuffie finally glanced up from his work and spotted his customers.

"Miss Willow!" he sang out with the hint of a Scottish accent, "One of my best customers. How are you? How is Mr. Giles?"

MacDuffie rose from the desk and set down his magnifying visor as he approached the counter.

"Ah lass, you brighten the shop every time you come in," he announced as he turned to confide in Buffy, "I always tell her, with that gorgeous red hair, she should've been a Scot and me thirty-five years younger!"

"Hello, Mr. MacDuffie," Willow blushed, "We just came from an auction with Giles. He says 'Hi.'"

"Ah, yes, the old Furtwangler estate," he nodded, understanding, "Well, you tell him I should have the 'eyebright' he ordered in by Monday."

MacDuffie then faced Buffy.

"And who's this lovely young lass with you today?"

"Oh, this is Buffy," Willow apologized for forgetting the obviously required introduction.

"Hi," the Slayer replied nervously as she waved her hand.

"Ahh, Buffy Summers! You are the one Miss Willow talks about so much."

Buffy's eyes widened at the shopkeeper's enthusiasm. She cast a worried look at Willow who grinned reassuringly in return.

"Well, what can I do for you today?" MacDuffie asked Willow, "A little chamomile for the tummy, again?"

Willow slid the box she was carrying onto the only open space on the countertop. She fished inside and retrieved the two blue scarab stones Giles bought them at the auction.

"Actually, Mr. MacDuffie, we were looking for some kind of a little locket or setting to put these in so we could hang them from a necklace."

Willow held the scarabs out for MacDuffie to see. Their soft blue coloring shown brightly in the dim light of the shop. MacDuffie studied the carved stones closely in Willow's hand and, smiling, spoke in a gentle voice that nevertheless carried a sense of awe and wonder.

"Oh my . . . these are wonderful scarabs."

Buffy, her eyes alive with amazement, listened enthralled to the shopkeeper's words.

"They represent Khepri, 'He who came forth from the earth.' The ancient Egyptians worshiped the scarab beetle as a symbol of rebirth and new life. Khepri pushes the Sun across the universe, and as a servant of the Sun's power, He also guards the just against the forces of darkness and evil. These are very old . . . and quite wonderful . . . I think I have just what you need. May I?"

MacDuffie slid the scarab stones from Willow's hand. He then walked over to a pull out drawer in the wall, opened it and rooted around inside. Quickly finding what he sought, MacDuffie returned to the counter, at the same time holding out two small oval silver jewelry mountings.

He deftly loosened each mounting with a tiny jeweler's screw driver, slipped a scarab into each and, just as swiftly, re-tightened the mountings. He then pulled two long thin thongs of leather out of a box on the counter. In one swift motion, he slid a thong through each mounting and tied them off as separate necklaces. He then signaled for both Buffy and Willow to step up to the counter.

"Miss Willow, this one will be for you," he said softly as he placed the first scarab necklace over Willow's head.

MacDuffie turned to Buffy. At first she was nervous but the strong look in MacDuffie's brown eyes somehow seemed reassuring, indeed almost protective. As she stepped closer to the counter, she wondered whether she saw more in the eccentric shopkeeper than he let on.

For a moment her mind wandered and she imagined not the dark shelves and cluttered display cases around Willow and herself in the shop but rather a bright entrance hallway of an ancient palace under the blazing Egyptian sun. Lotus shaped columns spread out to a courtyard where chariots stood in line, each mounted by patient warriors and drawn by steeds that pawed nervously at the dusty soil.

Before her and the royalty assembled, the shopkeeper swept the scarab from out of his robe and held the stone up high so that it might be blessed by the rays descending from the Sun. He knelt briefly in her presence and paused as Buffy held her breath.

MacDuffie gently slipped the scarab necklace over her head so that it came to rest on the silken robes on her chest that blew softly in the warm breeze.

"There, you are both under the protection of Khepri, now . . . " he said with a glowing smile, "A good friend to have on your side!"

Willow grinned back with pride and Buffy shook her head so that her friend wouldn't see that she was "zoning." In the dim light of the shop, Buffy looked down at her own scarab around her neck and marveled at the small blue stone.

"Oh thank you so much, Mr. MacDuffie!" Willow exclaimed, turning to Buffy, "See, I told you!"

"Thank you, Mr. MacDuffie," the Slayer said with appreciation, "They're perfect."

"My pleasure, lass," he nodded back.

"What do we owe you?" Willow asked as she fumbled with her purse.

"Fifteen should do very nicely."

Willow reached in to pull money out of her change purse but stopped suddenly.

"Buffy!" Willow exclaimed accusingly at the Slayer, "You blew it all at the auction . . . for Giles' manuscripts!"

A momentary panic swept across the Slayer's face, a look that quickly dissolved into one of bitter disappointment. Sadly she started to take the necklace off, sliding it over her head. Instantly MacDuffie reached out and stopped her.

"Wait . . . no, you both keep them. They're yours now . . . " he said, "Miss Willow, pay me when you come in next time."

Willow grinned broadly, and Buffy's eyes lit up once more.

"Oh, thank you, Mr. MacDuffie!"

"Thanks . . . Mr. MacDuffie," Buffy said quietly.

The shopkeeper would have none of it.

". . . Ahh, go!" he said waving off her serious tone, "It's a beautiful day outside. Not meant for young people to dawdle around in places the likes of this."

Willow swept up the box lot off the counter as she and Buffy quickly turned to leave. Approaching the door, Willow grinned at Buffy.

"And you wanted to go to the mall!" she smirked. She didn't catch the Slayer's quick glance over her shoulder back towards MacDuffie as they marched out into the mid afternoon sunshine.

Behind them, the little mechanical door bell jingled merrily as the door slapped shut. MacDuffie sat behind the counter for a few moments in silence. Then he spoke quietly as if to someone who stood by his side.

"Aye, tis a good day today indeed . . . " he said, "I'm glad they're in your care now. Watch over them . . . they're good lassies."

Ethan Rayne despised this latest hideout. After the band candy fiasco, he had been forced to do more lurking than even he was accustomed to, but this place Trick had found for him was the dregs.

The declining afternoon sun shown in through a single small window where the wall met the ceiling. It was clear now that Ethan's newest lair was actually a large storage room behind a vacant storefront in downtown Sunnydale. Shipping crates were strategically placed to serve as pieces of furniture holding up lamps, ashtrays and assorted nick knacks from Ethan's personal collection representing gods and demons in perverted poses.

The door on the back wall led to the side alleyway. Ethan lay flopped in his beat up recliner, the nearly drained bottle of scotch readily at hand on the side stand. He pulled out of his pocket a small antique hand blown glass vial, roughly the size of a perfume bottle, with a cork stopper. Inside, a faint blue wisp of color, closer in content to vapor than liquid, sloshed gently from side to side as Ethan examined it with a drunken irreverence. Maliciously, he began tossing the bottle in the air and catching it.

"Where . . . are . . . you . . . Rarak?" he said in a sing song voice as the bottle soared higher and higher "Oh where, oh where has my little Scott gone?"

Suddenly, Ethan almost missed a catch. The bottle bobbled in his hand but he recovered in time and kept it from falling to the floor where it would have shattered.

"Ooops! That was a close one," he grinned, slipping the bottle back into his coat pocket.

The back alley way door opened with a groan. Scott Hope stood in the afternoon sunshine, his silhouette casting a shadow across the floor. Ethan glanced up feigning indifference.

"My, my. The prodigal demon has returned," he announced, squinting in the bright rays.

Fully familiar with what he was facing, Scott stepped into the room.

"Rarak, close the door," Ethan moaned as if he were scolding a particularly difficult child, "You'd think I hadn't taught you any manners in the last four years."

"That's not my name," Scott said with an edge to his voice.

"Oh, that's right. You're _sensitive_ about that sort of thing," Ethan replied patronizingly as he spit out the last two words, "Sorry . . . _Scott!"_

Scott stalked up to within five feet of the recliner. Ethan slid the recliner to a sitting position and leaned forward.

"Now, what do you have for me?" he began the interrogation.

"Well, Mr. Giles did get the manuscripts."

"I know that!" Ethan snapped, exasperated, "Did you get me the Necropolis Text?"

Scott frowned.

"No, I told you Mr. Giles has it."

"Well you could have knocked him on the head or something and snatched it," Ethan demanded flippantly. His patience was wearing thin.

"He . . . he had Buffy with him," Scott floundered with the excuse.

"Oh . . . that's right, the Slayer," Ethan muttered, "Well, you'll just have to start dating her again, loiter around the library and steal it when you get the chance."

Scott didn't answer but rather looked down at the floor.

"What's wrong now!" Ethan demanded.

"I'm not going to hurt her," Scott answered through gritted teeth.

"Nobody's asking you to . . . just yet," Ethan smiled.

"I'm not going to hurt her! I'm not going to lie to her!" Scott repeated defiantly.

"Ohh . . . ," Ethan said, his eyes widening as he understood, "I see. So _that's_ why you broke up with her."

"Shut up," Scott warned.

Ethan Rayne's voice dripped sarcasm.

"What a noble little thing you think you are! Ending a relationship so you wouldn't have to hurt your . . . _girlfriend_! Well, just because you have a soul, don't get so bloody high and mighty with me! . . . For God's sake, I told you to date her, not fall in love with her!"

"SHUT UP!" Scott snarled.

"Rarak, you must understand," Ethan explained as if he were a twisted copy of Giles teaching a reluctant student, "This is business. You'll have years and years of all the pleasures this mortal world has to offer, but while you're working at my command, business comes first. Now, I want you to get back in with the Slayer, learn as much as you can and get your scaly paws on that Necropolis Text. I gather she's still in a dither over killing Angelus. I think we have an angle we can work there . . . if I can just get a hold of the spells for exchanging souls. And remember to check in with me later tonight."

"I told you, Mr. Rayne. I'm not going to hurt her!" Scott shouted back, his anger barely contained, "And if I go out with her, it's because I want to, not because you ordered me! I won't lie to her! And I won't betray her!"

Ethan Rayne snapped the recliner up and almost jumped to his feet. At the same time, he pulled the antique vial out of his pocket and waved it at Scott. The blue vapor swept back and forth like a soul beating on the crystalline walls of its tiny prison.

"Listen, you slimy little lizard!" Rayne said with a threatening tone that was cold and unmistakable, "You'll do what I say or my hand may suddenly slip after I've had a few too many! I could sneeze and send your miserable carcass back to the demon dimension where I got you! . . . now get out of here and do what you've been told!"

Scott turned to leave. Just before he stepped out the alley way door, he stopped and glared back at Ethan.

"You may think you control me, but you don't. And you don't scare me either," he answered with a tone as scornful and fatalistic as Ethan's was threatening.

"'Cause really I've got nothing to lose. All you can do is send me back . . . and in those few seconds it wouldn't be hard to sink my claws into you . . . and drag you along with me. So . . . Mr. Rayne . . . you just leave Buffy out of any of your plans. I won't hurt her . . . and if you so much as lay a finger on her . . ."

Scott's eyes suddenly glowed with a faint blue light that matched the color of the vapor in Ethan's little bottle. He snatched open the door once more and left as his shadow briefly towered across the storeroom floor before vanishing in a second.

The door slammed shut with a shuddering bang. Ethan stared after him, then mournfully studied the virtually empty bottle of scotch. After a moment, he leaned back in the recliner and stared up to the ceiling in disgust.

"Of all the millions of stinking little twits in the demon dimension . . . " he sighed, "I had to raise up one, . . . with a bloody soul!"

*** * * * * ***


	3. Chapter 3

**_The Better Path - part 3_**_  
by Gaius Petronius_

**DISCLAIMER:** Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all the characters that appear on the show are the exclusive property of Joss Whedon, Fox and Mutant Enemy, Inc. I only borrow them, mess with their heads, make them cry and every now and then, torture them.

**RATING:** This part is okay for everyone.

**A Note at the Beginning:** Written originally as a script in the fall of 1998, The Better Path first appeared on the original Slayer Fanfic Archive but has long been unavailable. The story with its shattering finale created quite a stir on the SFA so I've taken some time to novelize it for a new group of readers.

The Better Path is a different take on early season 3. Buffy has returned to Sunnydale after running away to LA, but her life at home is still a disaster, her interactions with the other Scoobies tentative at best and her attempt at a normal relationship with Scott Hope has failed miserably. Plagued with depression, she cannot shake the guilt tormenting her for sending Angel into the Demon Dimension. She becomes determined to free him, even if it means striking a deal with the Angel of Death Himself. The price, her soul.

**Chapter 4 - Rules, Liars and the Stupid Red Light at Park Street**

The old Dearborn Mansion loomed on the night enshrouded hillside like a giant marble tomb in the Sunnydale Cemetery.

Buffy stood alone in the middle of the central hall over the spot where she last saw Angel disappear into the vortex. Her arms hung loosely at her side, her head tipped down slightly as she stared at a particular spot on the floor. There, at her feet, a small red rose lay on the stone tiles where she placed it moments before. She didn't move or give any hint she was aware of her surroundings. Her face stared frozen in a blank mask at the floor, her eyebrows raised as if in a question.

She had been gazing at the rose on the floor since before sunset when she arrived.

Finally, she sighed and walked slowly over to one of the walls. She leaned her back against a column inset into the side of the hallway. While staring up at the vaulted ceiling, Buffy slowly slid down to sit on the cold stone floor. She drew her legs up and tried to nestle herself into a more comfortable position. She leaned her head against the column, and her gaze descended to the rose in the center of the hallway once more.

She sat unmoving. Then, almost imperceptibly, Buffy's eyes began to close. She sighed again, deeply this time, and the quiet sound was almost a sob. With eyes now shut, her head tipped gently to the side as she settled in closer to the cold unyielding column, as if she could squeeze some faint sense of comfort from the dark stones. The central hall was dead silent.

Miles away, the Bronze was cooking. Outside, the music volume of Dingos Ate My Baby rose and fell as the front entrance doors swung open and shut. Since it was early evening, the flow of Sunnydale High students was all in one direction. On stage, Oz's fingers slipped effortlessly up and down the frets of his Gibson. Dingos' lead singer swayed back and forth with the driving rhythm, her lips almost glued to the microphone.

Willow and Xander sat uncomfortably together at one of the front tables. While both were clutching frosty glasses of Dr. Pepper, neither had taken a sip in the last half hour. Instead they stared with mouths open out onto the dance floor where Faith gyrated enthusiastically by herself, all the while bumping into annoyed couples.

". . . Wow . . . different . . .," Xander muttered, not able to take his eyes off Faith's shifting hips.

"At least no one's laughing," Willow offered, "I mean they could be snarfing at her and everything."

Unconsciously, Xander let his hand drop down onto the table. It landed right on top of Willow's. Both pretended that they didn't realize they were touching. The hormones began rushing again, regardless of all the resolutions both had made after nearly being caught smooching in the stacks by Giles.

After a moment, Willow and Xander slowly looked at each other. The surge of hormones was irresistible. In another few seconds they were going to be in each other's arms. Willow rubbed her hand across the top of his. As Xander started to lean towards her, suddenly she drew back.

"No . . no . . . no hands! Hands are a bad thing!" Willow sputtered, yanking hers into her lap.

"Right! . . . right," Xander agreed. "New rule. When we're together like this, 'hands in pockets.'"

Xander pulled his hands off the table and stuffed them in his pants pockets.

"Yeah! That's a good rule!" Willow agreed as she followed his example, "Rules are a good thing. That way we know what we can do and what we can't."

Willow and Xander turned and stared at the table in front of them. Their eyes fell on their two drinks.

". . . We have a problem . . ." Xander said contemplating the full glasses

"Well, Duh!" Willow huffed, "The hands in pockets was your idea!"

"Yeah? Well, you didn't have to agree to it so quick! You're supposed to be 'Miss Smarty Pants I Can Read Latin Now.'"

"Hey . . . this is good," Willow said hopefully, "We're fighting. Let's just keep fighting, then we won't . . ."

Willow stopped in mid sentence as she and Xander stared at each other, once again ready to leap into each other's arms. Trying to break her gaze, Willow slowly leaned down over the table to take a sip from her glass. Xander did the same thing. As both bent forward toward their drinks, their heads turned to each other and their eyes locked. At the last second before reaching the glasses, their faces moved together as they kissed with their hands still tightly tucked in their pockets. After a moment, they slowly separated.

". . . Oh . . . shit . . ." Xander swore, turning away from Willow.

"Yeah, . . . and we didn't even break the rule!" she wailed.

Cordelia Chase, with perfect soap opera timing, suddenly appeared next to the table.

"Hey, you two!"

Both Xander and Willow nearly leaped up out of their seats. Cordelia pulled up a chair and sat down next to Xander

"Cordy! Wow, you scared me," Xander answered as his mind whispered a silent prayer that the Bronze would come under immediate attack from a herd of vampires. Heck, he would even have settled for a drug or booze raid by the Sunnydale Police Department. Anything would do so that he didn't have to answer the question he knew was coming next.

"Gee, you two look weird," Cordelia stared, "What's with the hands in the pockets?"

"Uh . . . we were just playing on old game," Xander answered as he struggled to control a surge of the babbles he felt heading from his brain to his vocal chords. "Who could drink the most from their glass without spilling it."

"This one of those dopey things you two did as kids?" Cordelia scowled.

"Uh . . . yeah," Willow came to the rescue, realizing both had a better chance of evading detection if they presented a united front, "We used to play it at family picnics. Then he'd drop salamanders down my shirt when I wasn't looking."

"Eeeww!" Cordelia shook her head in disgust as she turned to Xander. "Come here, reptile boy."

Willow sighed in relief. The gross out strategy had worked. Well kind of. Cordelia wrapped her arms around Xander. Hesitating at first, he put his arms around her, returning the embrace. She kissed him passionately.

With a sad look on her face, Willow slumped back in her chair, took her hands out of her pockets and plopped them on the table in front of her. For a few moments, she stared off over the other tables at nothing in particular. She then noticed that the band sounded different. Glancing up at the stage, Willow realized Oz was no longer there. His guitar sat unattended leaning against his amplifier. Willow suddenly gasped in panic. Leaping to her feet, she looked wildly around.

"Oh No! He couldn't have seen . . . I . . . I . . . gotta find Oz!"

Willow dashed toward the stage and disappeared into one of the entrances.

"Bye . . .," Cordelia called out to Willow's back as she vanished. "Did you let her have more than two Dr. Peppers again?"

"Uh . . . honest Cordy, I don't know what she . . ."

Faith swept in from the dance floor and interrupted Xander as she plopped herself down next to him in Willow's chair.

"Hey, guys!" she announced in her best attention getting voice as she turned to Xander, "So, what's up with Red?"

"I don't know," he answered almost squirming in his seat to avoid her piercing gaze, "She just saw Oz wasn't playing and went to find him."

Cordelia scanned the dance floor.

"Speaking of finding people, where's Buffy? She a no show, again?"

"Probably," Faith said as she stole a slug of Willow's abandoned Dr. Pepper, "She told me to take the night off. She'd handle patrol."

Faith spoke under her breath so only Xander could hear.

"She's a liar, too. Not that I don't mind the extra boogie time."

Xander's eyes bulged with fear. He knew without question that Faith had seen the ten second indiscretion.

"And I feel like dancing tonight!" Faith announced to Cordelia, at the same time pointing her thumb at Xander, "Hey, Cords, can I borrow this guy? I promise I'll give him back in a couple of minutes."

Xander turned to Cordelia, his expression pleading with her to bail him out. Cordelia, flattered and misunderstanding the look, smiled and leaned forward so her head was beside Xander's.

"No way," she grinned at Faith, "This one's mine and I don't share."

"That's okay," Faith smiled back, "Good policy. Just checking."

Searching for a familiar face, she scanned the dance floor and the other tables. At the same time, Scott slipped into the Bronze and hovered by the door. He, too began eye balling the room but he was looking for someone specific.

"Ahh! I spot a victim!" Faith said as she rubbed her hands together

"Isn't that Scott?" Cordelia asked, following Faith's gaze.

"Yeah . . . and I bet he's looking for Buffy."

"But they just broke up. He dumped her."

"Cords, look at him."

Cordelia craned her neck and studied Scott nervously slipping around the dancing couples.

"See what I mean," Faith said staring directly at Xander again, "Guys! They're so transparent! Well, nobody's getting any younger here. I better rescue this kid before he falls down a hellmouth."

"You think you ought to be hanging out with him? I mean he and Buffy just . . ."

"Broke up? Yeah I know. I'm just gonna ask him to dance," Faith interrupted Cordelia "Not take him home!"

"But isn't there like some unwritten rule about how long you're supposed to wait before . . ." Xander stopped in mid sentence. He wondered why he was always opening his big mouth.

Faith stood up and messed Xander's hair with her hand.

"Those are guy rules and hey, rules are made to be broken, right?"

Faith gave Xander's head a push that was just a little too rough to be in fun. As she left the table, she called back over her shoulder.

"I'll catch up with you later."

Xander gulped down a large swallow of flat Dr. Pepper and almost gagged.

"What's with her?" Cordelia scowled as she watched Faith weave her way through the crowd towards Scott., "And I thought Buffy was a bad influence."

Xander, his face creased with guilt, tried to direct his attention to the faceless scores of dancing couples. Cordelia, straightened herself in her seat, pushing her chest out at the same time. Despite her best efforts to turn on the physical attraction, she knew immediately that Xander was barely paying attention to her.

"Now what's wrong with you?" she snapped, "We finally have a Saturday night to ourselves. Just you and me. Everybody's split. Buffy's off doing . . . whatever she does. Willow's chasing Band Man. Xander, I'm sitting with you . . . at the Bronze! It's not a broom closet!"

Xander suddenly looked back at Cordelia. Something was clearly wrong. She had seen the peculiar resigned look on his face only once before when the Inca mummy girl had died. She had to ask.

"What is it? What happened? What did you do?"

"Cordy? . . . If we could take the last two weeks, since Homecoming, . . . and forget they ever happened . . . just start 'em all over again . . . would you do that with me?" He knew he was babbling but as was so often the case, he had no control over the words spilling out of his mouth.

"Huh?"

"Pretend these last two weeks never existed . . . would you?" Xander begged.

She stared at him. His dark brown hair seemed almost black in the Bronze's dim lighting. The shadows on his face gave him the appearance of someone in physical pain, indeed almost torment.

To Cordelia, it could only mean one thing.

"Xander?" she asked slowly and fearfully, "Are . . . you gonna break up with me?"

"NO!" This was not going the way he intended it to at all. He had to try again.

"But say yes, Cordy, please say yes! . . . that we can forget these last two weeks . . ."

"Okay, . . . yeah, Xander. I'll forget." Cordelia couldn't believe she had given in.

"Promise?" he asked using all the puppy dog charms he could muster.

"I promise," Cordelia finally said as she stared into his brown eyes looking for any hint as to what she was agreeing.

"I promise, too," Xander replied. Maybe he was off the hook or maybe not. Whichever, he knew he had crossed a bridge over which there was no return.

"Xander?" Cordelia asked quietly, "What's happened?"

Xander sighed. He had done all he could. He returned Cordelia's gaze and marveled at her rich brown hair. He took her in his arms and held her tightly. Oblivious to the people who were now staring from the neighboring tables, Xander buried his face in Cordelia's shoulder and whispered in her ear.

"I . . . I do love you, Cordy . . . no matter what you hear, what people say or what happens . . ."

Wrapped in Xander's embrace, Cordelia's eyes widened with happiness. No one had ever said it to her before. At least said it and meant it at the same time. Granted half the football squad would have uttered the words, but there was something in the way Xander spoke them that touched her deep inside and yet caused a fear to return to her face. It was something in his tone as well as what he said. She returned his hug as hard as she could.

She imagined they were standing together on the edge of some dark entrance or moment in time where danger lurked concealed around every corner. The pathway forward was completely obscured, jagged cliffs loomed up on all sides and yet there was no turning back. All they had to lean on was each other.

". . . me, too . . . " she whispered, worried, into his ear. "I . . . I love you, too."

There, she had said it. It made her feel a little better that there was someone next to her for whatever was going to occur. They would face it together.

Outside in the back alley, Oz's van, with the motor running, was parked halfway up towards the street. Willow burst out of a backstage entrance door to The Bronze and ran into the shadows. As she looked up and down the dark street, she spotted the beige van. She turned towards it, called out and started to walk in the direction of the van.

"Oz! Oz, please wait!" she cried out.

Suddenly, the van's motor gunned spewing a cloud of oil laden exhaust. Like a demon mist, it filled the alley as the van pulled out and drove up to the intersection with the main avenue. It quickly disappeared around the corner leaving Willow standing alone sobbing.

He had left her.

". . . oh no . . . oh . . . no . . ." Willow stood alone shaking her head, crying.

Inside the Bronze, Scott stood by himself at the edge of the dance floor. Couples gyrated in front of him under the spinning lights. Faith slipped up beside him.

"Hey Mr. Clean Jeans," and she pinched his butt.

"Ow! Oh! . . ." he spun as if he were about to throw a punch,"Oh it's you. Hi Faith. Geez, you scared me there."

"Seems I've been doing that a lot lately!" she smirked back at him. She half wished he had followed through. "You looking for Buffy?"

"Uhh, no . . . well . . . yeah, sort of."

"That's what I love. Guys who know what they want." Faith paused for a beat." "She's not here."

"I didn't think she would be," he answered, discouraged.

"Scott, if you're looking for Buffy . . ." Faith asked prying for more information, "What'd you break up with her for?"

"Let's just say I screwed up real bad," Scott said, looking away at the same time.

Faith's eyes widened as she sensed an opening.

"Aw come on," she asked as she put on her best sexy stance, "You can tell me. I'm yer friend." At the same time, Faith nuzzled in close to Scott.

"I just don't get her," Scott rambled, oblivious to Faith's advances, "You know her. What is it with her, she's this really hot chick, . . . gorgeous and all. She's into martial arts. Must be smart, too, cause she hangs out in the library with that Willow Rosenberg."

Faith stifled a laugh. Scott noticed Faith's suppressed outburst.

"I really like being around her, but she's bummed all the time 'cause of that Angel guy she used to go out with . . . something awful must have happened between them. I thought I had a chance with her, even just to be friends and hang out. But look at me . . ."

Faith eyeballed Scott, her gaze halting for a moment on his rear. She reached out and gave him a gentle pat.

"Hey, I'm looking, and ya look pretty cute to me!"

"Oh, yeah, right! Our big first date, . . . Buster Keaton film fest! What was I thinking! . . . " he said. "That's easy, I wasn't. No wonder she always found a reason to bail whenever I asked her out after that. I mean we'd have lunch at school and all but then every day after class she disappears into the library. Some excuse about that Mr. Giles tutoring her or something. And going to The Bronze, or just stopping off for a stupid ice cream at night, forget it. I guess she just doesn't like me . . . She's still hung up on that Angel guy."

"Don't be too rough on yourself. She's been dumping on everybody lately. You still like her, don't ya?"

Scott didn't answer. Surprised, he looked up at Faith.

"Don't gimme that sweet guy look!" she sneered at him. "You're lying. All guys lie, . . . besides, you're good enough for her. Just don't be such a wuss! I'm sure there's lots of stuff about you she doesn't know that she'd find real cool."

Faith playfully squeezed Scott's arm, checking out his bicep hidden beneath his shirt's long sleeves.

"Cool!" she nodded, "You work out!"

"Well, I do draw pretty good . . . " Scott said wistfully, as if Faith weren't there. He suddenly realized she was staring at him and grinning.

"Oh shit, what the hell am I telling you for! Promise won't tell her!"

"Listen, I got a deal for you. I know where Buffy is tonight. Do the next dance with me and I'll go find her for ya."

"Maybe I can tag along?" he asked. "I know a real cool coffee shop that stays open late and . . ."

"Hey, don't push your luck," Faith interrupted, joking but with a touch of warning in her voice, "You may be sorta cute, . . . but you're still a guy and a liar. When I leave, you stay put, got me!"

Scott nodded. Dingoes Ate My Baby began playing a slow song.

"That's our cue," Faith announced as she thumbed towards the dance floor.

She led him through the sea of couples up to an open space directly in front of the stage. Knowing they were in full view of the entire Bronze, Faith plunged her hands into Scott's back pockets, pressing her body up against his. Suddenly the muffled ring of a cell phone, barely audible above the dance music, emanated from Scott's coat pocket.

Ethan Rayne, sitting in his beat up recliner, held the portable phone to his ear. Scott's cell phone rang a half dozen times.

"Rarak, I really don't like being ignored," he snarled under his breath, shaking his head, "So unless you're in the sack with the Slayer, you damn well better pick up!"

"Aren't you gonna answer that?" Faith whispered to Scott as she breathed in his ear.

Scott reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small cell phone.

"Ahh, it's just this old jerk I work for. He doesn't go out so I've gotta run all his errands. He's always calling to remind me to do all this crap for him." Scott pushed the mute button for the ring tone. He quickly slid the phone back into his jacket.

"I've been avoiding him," he said in answer to Faith's unspoken question. "The job sucks, anyway. I was gonna quit today."

"Well, why didn't you answer the phone and tell the old coot to shove it?"

"Faith . . . not now, okay," Scott said firmly, the tone of his voice drawing a line in the sand.

"Hey, it's your life," she said, shrugging her shoulders.

The slow dance music ended. Faith and Scott stopped dancing. H stared at Faith expectantly.

"Okay! Okay, you passed the test! I'll go find her! Geez, you got it bad. A little advice, don't let Buffy see you like this!"

Faith turned to leave. As she wove between the couples on the dance floor she looked back and glared at Scott.

"Don't be a wise ass! Stay put, you hear me?"

Scott nodded. Faith left the dance floor and paraded out the front entrance of The Bronze. For a few moments, Scott glanced nervously around. Xander and Cordelia were still in each other's arms and Willow and Oz were nowhere to be seen. When Scott realized nobody who knew him was watching, he quickly slipped out the Bronze front entrance after Faith.

Ethan Rayne finally punched the disconnect on his portable phone. After a minute, he reached over to the table by the side of his recliner and poured a shot of Scotch. Downing the liquor in one swig, he turned on his phone once more and hit a speed dial button.

"Rarak, you're a bloody nuisance," he muttered with exasperation.

The number rang twice, and Ethan put the phone to his ear.

"Trick, please . . . Trick! Ethan here. . . . Yes, it's good to talk to you again, too. How's things? . . . Good! Glad to hear it! Politics can be so . . . dirty. Plans for the condos out on the Strip still on track? Excellent. If you need a little persuasion with Zoning on the environmental impact statement, you know who to call. Listen old man, I need a favor.

Ethan listened politely and slowly smiled.

"Now, now, Trick, I delivered the candy! And the formula was perfect! . . . Yes, actually this does have something to do with getting the Slayer out of our hair. I need to impose upon a few of your crew to round up my little . . . 'assistant' there . . . Yes, seems he's wandering again. I just can't seem to get him to recognize that this is business and not pleasure . . ."

Ethan listened for a moment more.

"I agree he's been a bit of a pill lately but your solution would severely limit his usefulness. There is the problem of sunlight, you know, and how he's supposed to get near the Slayer during school hours. Besides, you fellows are not exactly known for being . . . inconspicuous."

Ethan smiled as he poured himself a second shot of Scotch.

"That's a good man. Just have them drop him off here and I'll take it from there. . . . I owe you one, Trick. Thanks again, and give my regards to the Mayor."

Ethan switched off the portable phone and placed it on the side table. He lifted the full shot glass and sipped as if it were a cup of hot tea.

"Rarak, Rarak, why do you always make it so difficult," he sighed to himself as he rubbed his hand over the side of his face. "All I wanted you to do was be friends with the dumb bitch, not get the hots for her!"

While the crowd at the Bronze danced enthusiastically, everyone agreed Dingoes Ate My Baby was having an off night. In the middle of the stage, Oz's guitar and amplifier sat unattended for the rest of the evening.

Several hours later, the band finished packing up.

Willow sat on the stage floor leaning against Oz's amplifier. Her normally poker straight hair was messy and her face had a serious hang dog case of the blues. Bronze employees pushed brooms around her as they swept up the stage and dance floor. The last band members and patrons drifted slowly for the doors., Every once in a while Willow looked up expectantly, waiting for Oz to return.

Finally, Oz slipped in through the back stage door and walked up quietly behind her. She sensed his arrival and jumped to her feet. Nervously she played with her fingers. Oz stopped in front of her and stared down at the stage floor.

"Hey . . . " She said hopefully.

"Hey." he replied after a moment.

There was an uncomfortable pause. Willow finally broke the silence between them.

"Where you been?"

"I . . . I gotta get my stuff and get going," he answered, ignoring her question.

"Oz . . . we gotta talk."

"No Willow, _you_ gotta talk. Not me. That's what _you_ want to do."

Willow was stunned by Oz's blunt response. She had no answer.

"I know what I just saw tonight . . . ," he continued, looking off towards the stage wings, "So I'm gettin' outta here now. Maybe tomorrow it'll all be gone, like nothing ever happened."

Willow stood staring at Oz. She could feel uncontrollable tremors in her hands that she had never experienced before. The shock of what he was saying quickly sank in.

"I know the Bronze'll still be here. Town won't change. That stupid red light at Park Street'll still be screwed up. Yeah, . . . maybe tomorrow it'll be like nothing ever happened. I'll wake up and be tall and have graduated and you and Xander will have been going out since you were kids."

"Oz! Please talk to me!"

Oz collected his guitar and amplifier.

"I _am_ talking to you. But this isn't about talking. This is one you gotta figure out for yourself."

"I have figured it out!" she shouted, stamping her foot at the same time.

Oz looked Willow directly in the eyes.

"No." he said quietly and firmly. "You haven't,. . . . I gotta split."

Oz lugged his equipment off into the wings and out the back door. Willow stood alone in the center of the Bronze stage. She rubbed her shaking hands together and her chest heaved with suppressed sobs. Somewhere out of sight, a Bronze employee began individually switching off the lights illuminating the stage. One by one, each pool of light disappeared finally leaving Willow standing alone on stage in the shadows.


	4. Chapter 4

**_The Better Path - Part 4  
by G. Petronius_**

DISCLAIMER: Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all the characters that appear on the show are the exclusive property of Joss Whedon, Fox and Mutant Enemy, Inc.

**Chapter 5 - "We All Scream For Ice Cream."**

Faint candle light flickered from one of the downstairs windows of the Dearborn Mansion. Faith was pretty sure she knew its source. She approached quietly through the overgrown bushes that lined the pathway to the front entrance.

As she drew nearer to the long steps leading up to the front doorway for the central hall, she halted momentarily and glanced over her shoulder. For a second, she swore she was being followed. The bushes were still, the night air heavy with silence. She turned again towards the mansion and began climbing the stairs.

Inside, Buffy remained seated on the floor at the base of one of the stone columns where she had been since dusk. Shadows waved softly across the furniture and walls of the central hall as the light from a lone floor standing candelabra provided the only illumination.

Her legs were drawn up against her chest and her arms wrapped around her knees. She stared at the single red rose she had placed in the center of the stone floor. Finally she sighed, stretched out her legs and arms, and rose to her feet. She turned her eyes up to the vaulted ceiling.

Walking back and forth, Buffy returned her gaze to the floor. She massaged the back of her head and neck with her hand as if she were searching for an answer to an unknown question. Her boots made a crisp clipping sound as she paced the stone floor. Suddenly a set of footfalls from out of the darkness near the open front door caught her attention.

Buffy halted and stared towards the sound. She waited. The footsteps stopped. There was a moment of silence, then Faith strode into the light.

"Hey," she said quietly.

"Hi," Buffy replied as she turned away.

"Caught ya . . . again," Faith said gently.

Buffy hung her head and smiled sadly. Faith walked over to Buffy's side. Faith's boots echoed in the dimly lit central hall.

"Ya know, for a minute there, with you pacing and all, you looked a lot like Giles . . . when one of his books has got him all twisted around and screwed up."

Buffy looked up at Faith and smiled again.

"Yeah? I guess so, . . ." the Slayer said wistfully, "Except Giles always finds the answer."

Faith paused.

"Maybe there isn't an answer, 'B'. . . Maybe there isn't even a question."

Buffy glowered.

"Then . . . none of this makes any sense, does it? What I did to Angel, our oaths, our _sacred_ duties, what the hell do we do any of it for? . . . if there aren't even any questions . . . I mean we stake the slobs down every night, and five minutes later more of 'em pop up in their place. . . . And then one day we screw up . . . and we die."

"Buffy . . ."

"Yeah, Faith?"

"Remember the first rule of Slaying you told me? 'Stay alive!'"

Buffy grinned again and nodded.

"Everything comes from that," Faith continued, pushing for the advantage. "Ya know, you think too much."

"Me? Think? Not according to Giles!" Buffy almost laughed.

"Nah, not like that," Faith waved off Buffy's remark, "I mean trying to figure out what you're not supposed to figure out."

Buffy sighed. She spoke as if she were suddenly alone in the Dearborn Mansion.

"I keep seeing it all in my head . . . trying to decide if there was any other way."

"Sure there was another way!" Faith snipped.

"Huh?" Buffy looked up surprised as if she had just been woken up from a pleasant dream.

Faith laughed and swaggered in front of Buffy.

"You could've just grabbed ole Angel hunk there, planted a big wet one on his face, said 'Welcome back! Where the _Hell_ _you_ been?' and had fifteen seconds of Heaven . . . Might even have gotten in a quickie before you sent the whole world to Hell!"

Buffy scowled at Faith and spoke slowly.

"No, I mean . . . if there was any way . . . I could have gone . . . in his place."

"You gotta be shitting me!"

Faith looked around her at the vaulted ceiling and the cold fireplace.

"It's gonna be good when they finally tear this place down!" she said disgusted, "At least then maybe you'll _stop_ thinking and take a second to smell the night air again. Or ice cream, gobs of hot fudge, _two_ cherries! You still get . . . hungry . . . don't ya?"

Buffy couldn't help but smile. Since Faith had arrived in Sunnydale, being "hungry" had taken on a whole new world of meaning.

"Yeah, I thought so!" Faith said slapping Buffy on the back, "Come on, let's get outta here. . . . Oh, I almost forgot. Your ex-boyfriend, you know the _live one_, was looking for ya at the Bronze."

"Scott? What does he want?" Buffy hoped her tone hadn't betrayed any hint of interest.

"I'm not supposed to tell . . . " Faith snickered, "But I think he's still got the hots for you. Hell, he might even apologize!"

Buffy looked down and shook her head.

"Aw, come on 'B'." Faith elbowed Buffy gently in the ribs, "You never did a thing with him. Just ditch out on him all the time."

"I don't know . . ."

"Well, then, can I have him if you don't want him?"

"No!" Buffy snapped, quickly looking back up at Faith.

That's the second time I've been told that tonight!" Faith laughed, "Cordelia pulled it on me earlier when I was gonna squeal on Xander and Willow for doing the smootchie!"

"What?"

"I caught Xander and Willow pulling the old lip lock at the Bronze," Faith bragged, "Cordelia missed it but Oz took in the whole matinee."

Suddenly Angel, the Hellmouth, and every Slayer sacred duty were forgotten.

"Oh, My, God! Talk! Now!" Buffy demanded.

Scott kept himself concealed in the overgrown bushes as he followed Faith from the Bronze. He suddenly stopped and stared up at the mansion steps leading to the front door. He could see the candle light flickering through one of the central hall windows and heard the sound of voices.

Behind him, a twig broke with a loud snap. Instinctively he spun around. A fist swung out of the darkness, catching him square in the jaw. Stunned, Scott went down.

"I want details!" Buffy exclaimed as the two walked to the open front door, "You saw this for real?"

"As real as the smootchies can get!" Faith chuckled relishing the attention.

Suddenly, both froze as they heard the sounds of scuffling coming from the darkness outside.

"What the hell is that?" Buffy asked.

"Sshhh!"

Faith ran out the front door and stopped at the top of the stairs. Buffy followed her. Both crouched down in the faint light. The Slayers quickly scanned the grounds.

Instantly they spotted Scott down on his back. A large vampire hovered over him, then yanked him to his feet.

"Hello, Rarak!" the creature snarled, "I'm getting tired of blowing my Wednesday night happy hour chasing around after you!"

Scott hung limp in the vampire's grasp. The deception worked. The vampire's grip was not as tight as it could have been, its claws barely bruising the skin under his long sleeve shirt.

Suddenly Scott snapped back like a tightly wound spring. He swept the back of his clenched fist violently across the vampire's face. Caught by surprise, his captor toppled back from the impact and lost its hold on his shoulders. Scott, still partially stunned, struggled to maintain his balance, but two more sets of hands wrapped around his neck and shoulders. He squirmed in the tightening grip of more vampires.

Buffy and Faith watched Scott struggling with five opponents. The one Scott struck rose up off the ground and rubbed his jaw. Two restrained Scott and two more howled with laughter at the vampire Scott punched out.

"Where'd he come from!" Buffy whispered.

"Damn! The little shit followed me! Guys do real stupid things for love!" Faith replied.

"Run that one by me again?"

"Later!"

"Right!" Buffy patted Faith on the shoulder and pointed to a spot in the heavy brush next to where Scott was struggling.

"Split up!" Buffy said quickly, "You nail 'em from there! I'll smash 'em from the other side!"

Buffy and Faith separated. They quickly disappeared into the overgrown plantings that spread from the doorway to the foot of the steps.

The two vampires held Scott firmly. There was no element of surprise working in his favor this time. He could feel their yellow claws digging into the skin of his shoulders.

"You scaly little bastard!" the lead vampire snarled, "If I didn't have specific orders from Trick not to damage you, I'd have put you away years ago."

"Still can't handle the job yourself!" Scott yelled back, "How many flunkies you need tonight?"

The vampire shoved his face up to Scott and growled. Scott's mind raced for some way to break his captors' grip. Suddenly, using the vampires holding him as a body pivot, Scott swung both feet up in the air and kicked out violently against the chest of the vampire leering at him.

His tormentor, again caught by surprise, fell over. At the same time, the two vampires holding Scott lost their balance from the swing of Scott's body in their grip and toppled backwards, taking Scott down with them. Scott's feet and fists lashed out wildly as all three collapsed in a squirming pile. The two other vampires howled derisively at their companions' ludicrous attempts to control what appeared to be a mere human.

Suddenly, crashing out of the bushes on either side of the path like two avenging angels, Buffy and Faith planted well targeted kicks in the backs of the spectator vampires. Not waiting to judge the effect of their assault, the Slayers together jumped across the fallen vampires and dragged Scott's captors off of him. Scott scrambled to his feet. He glared at his original tormentor who turned to make a run for it.

Scott dove at the fleeing vampire, catching him by the legs as he zig zagged to escape into the bushes. The vampire fell with Scott grasping at his legs. Scott scrambled up the vampire's body and punched ferociously at the undead face. A faint blue light, unseen by Buffy or Faith, shone in his eyes as he rained a hail of blows on his former assailant now pinned under him.

"YOU WANNA BITE ME? . . . THEN BITE ME! . . . JUST TRY . . . AND BITE ME!"

Several yards away, Buffy and Faith were preoccupied with their opponents. Buffy jabbed her fists again and again, sending one vampire sprawling into the bushes. Faith clasped her hands together in a fist and swung them over and over into the face of her opponent.

"BUFFY! GIMME A STAKE!" Scott yelled out to Buffy.

Not believing what she just heard, Buffy looked in surprise at Scott and hesitated.

"'B!' DO IT!" Faith yelled at Buffy as she planted blow after blow into a stubborn vampire that wouldn't go down.

Buffy quickly slipped a stake out of her inside jacket pocket and tossed it to Scott. He deftly snatched the weapon out of the air and, grasping it with both hands, plunged the point with all his strength into the chest of the vampire beneath him. The vampire exploded into dust. The sound was like a general signal for retreat. Realizing they were beaten without their leader, the four other vampires broke off the struggle and fled into the bushes.

Scott, panting and gasping, sat on the ground where the vampire had disintegrated underneath him. Buffy and Faith stared at him in complete shock. A nervous little smile lit up his face as he looked up at the Slayers.

". . . Hi, Buffy . . ." he said trying to catch his breath and be nonchalant at the same time.

"Scott? . . ." Buffy finally sputtered out, "What the hell just happened here!"

"Uh . . . Mr. Trick doesn't like me?"

Faith snickered to Buffy.

"I guess our usual story about being attacked by crack heads isn't gonna fly either!"

"Are you okay?" Buffy asked, her anger softening.

"Yeah, I think so . . ." Scott answered as he took several deep breaths. "Buffy, . . . Faith, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I followed you guys but . . . I've known everything all along."

Buffy and Faith stared at Scott, a mixture of suspicion and anger in their eyes.

"Don't be pissed. Your secret's safe," he said glancing down sadly. "Hell, I got enough of my own. I guess . . . "

For a moment all three were silent. Then Scott looked back up at Buffy.

". . . Did I blow it?"

"You handled yourself pretty good there, kid!" Faith answered grinning.

She strode over to Scott and offered him her hand. He took it, and she pulled him up to his feet.

"Looks like you've had some experience getting roughed up," she said as she eyed him up and down. "Where'd you learn to fight like that?"

"Before I came to Sunnydale, I was always the smallest . . . one. I got picked on and beat up a lot . . . makes you learn a few moves."

Buffy joined Scott and Faith.

"Who the hell are you anyway? . . . " Buffy glared, her suspicions still running wild, "What the hell are you doing here?"

For the first time Scott stared Buffy directly in the eyes. She almost took a step back. His bright blue eyes suddenly betrayed a depth she had never seen before. For a moment, she felt she was staring down a small bottomless shaft into a world of chaos and despair.

"We gotta talk, Buffy . . . right now. I gotta fix some things I really screwed up."

Scott suddenly winced in pain.

"Oww," he muttered and rubbed his jaw with his hand.

"You sure you're okay?" Buffy asked as she moved up beside him.

"Yeah," he said rubbing the side of his face, "I just haven't been whacked there in a while. Forgot what it felt like. Hey, anybody . . . hungry? I'm kind of starved all of a sudden."

Buffy and Faith stared at each other, their mouths open.

"I know this great all night coffee shop," Scott rattled on, oblivious to the Slayers' response. "They got super ice cream and the hot fudge is real death by . . . uh well . . . you know what I mean."

"Hey B, maybe we could use this guy on patrol!" Faith snickered aside to Buffy, "You sure I can't have him?"

"Shut up," Buffy smiled back at Faith.

"Whadda ya say? Who's hungry?" Scott asked again.

"You go ahead 'B'," Faith grinned. "I'll finish patrol. I think you and ole 'Scott the Stake' here got a little catching up to do."

Buffy nodded in agreement. She marched by Scott, calling out over her shoulder.

"All right, Scott . . . whoever you are . . . let's go get that ice cream. You got some explaining to do!"

The street lamps cast intermittent pools of light and shadow across the closed stores and near empty sidewalks of downtown Sunnydale. There were few pedestrians but the thoroughfare was busier with traffic than usual for a weekday night.

Buffy and Scott headed at a good clip down the sidewalk towards the commercial center of town. As they moved under each street lamp, their forms were alternately lit up in bright artificial light and then passed into the darkness of shadow and silhouette. All around them were the constant rumble of car engines and the occasional honk of horns echoing up and down the street.

As Scott walked at Buffy's side, he did his best to explain his actions over the past week. Every few minutes he held out his arms in front of him for emphasis. Suddenly, Buffy stopped and turned to confront him. She didn't buy it, the lying, the deception, the excuses. She had heard it all before from Angelus. The Slayer waved her arms in the air and yelled at him.

Scott faced Buffy and hung his head. With no way to soothe her outburst, he stood and as he had learned from dealing with Ethan Rayne, just bore the brunt of her tirade. Finally, Buffy stomped her foot and stormed away.

For a second, he almost followed, but after a few feet he stopped and looked down. It was enough, he thought, shaking his head. He had given it his best shot.

He slowly turned but didn't move from the spot. Something held him in place. As had happened so often recently, he stood at the junction of two paths. He knew where the first was headed, its destination completed and certain. But the second was obscured, its surroundings enshrouded, the point where it disappeared hidden by the unknown. Again, just as he had earlier at the Bronze, he defied what others tried to make him do.

Buffy suddenly realized Scott wasn't behind her. She stopped, turned back and saw him by himself, not looking at her but instead gazing up at the night sky.

For a moment, Buffy hesitated. Again she was caught off guard by his reaction. Her "throw a tantrum and stalk off" routine almost always worked with guys. Angel, Xander, even Giles would quickly try to patch up the rift, rather than risk a Slayer meltdown. She then shook her head and walked back to join him.

**"**. . . Hey . . ." she said gently as she stood next to him.

Scott didn't answer.

"Listen, I'm real sorry about yelling at you," she caved.

"I know. It's okay . . ." he finally replied, still holding his gaze on the lace work of constellations glowing in the overhead darkness, "Really. I deserved it."

"But you gotta understand . . . I mean . . . how the hell did you ever get tangled up with a bastard like Ethan Rayne?"

Scott turned his attention to Buffy and struggled for the right words.

"Buffy, . . . He's got stuff on me . . . big time, . . . that could really hurt me."

"Well then, you take me to the rat," Buffy puffed up, "And I'll beat the crap outta him! Problem solved!"

"No. It's not that simple. Some things . . . you have to do on your own. You know. Friends are great and they'll do anything for you . . . but there are times when you have to go it alone. No one else can follow. Because . . . you care for those people too much."

There was something in the way he said it, a tone of resignation in his voice that struck Buffy. She imagined herself saying the same thing over and over during the past two years to Willow, Xander, Giles and Angel, especially to Angel.

"Yeah . . . been there," she sighed and nodded.

"I mean, it was all okay, I could handle it all until . . . until I met you . . . and asked you out."

Buffy stared at Scott. Something was suddenly different. His face and body were still the same. His short poker straight brown hair still hung in disheveled bangs over his forehead. But something in the light from the failing street lamp just up the block from where they stood cast shadows across his face that made the chills run down Buffy's spine. For a second, she imagined the shadow exaggerated lines on his face were remnants of scars, the result of repeated beatings and torture.

"When Rayne heard we were going out, he went ballistic," he continued, "Started demanding I do all kinds of crazy stuff. Against you . . . against Giles. I refused . . . cause it would hurt you. But he wouldn't back off. So the only way out I could see was . . . to break up with you."

Buffy, speechless, still stared at Scott.

"I'm sorry I was such an asshole. I know you've been trying to get over that Angel guy and you didn't need another kick in the gut, but I couldn't risk it. I just remember the look on your face when I told you I . . ."

Scott couldn't finish the sentence. Ashamed, he looked away from Buffy.

"Anyway, I told Rayne to screw off tonight," he continued staring down at the pavement.

"That explains Trick's goons." Buffy understood now. It all made sense. "Rayne sent them, huh?"

"Yeah."

Buffy shook her head and smiled ever so slightly.

"And here I thought you dumped me 'cause _I was too weird!"_

Scott and Buffy both looked up at each other and started to chuckle in spite of themselves. They were then silent for a few moments. Finally Buffy reached out to Scott with her hand and gently guided his face towards her.

"Scott . . ." she asked almost in a whisper but with no reproach in her voice, "The way you fought tonight . . . and I heard that vampire call you by a name. . . . who are you . . . really?"

"I . . . I can't tell you, Buffy. . . ." he answered quietly, pleading for her understanding, "At least, not now. . . . but, soon. I promise."

"I don't know. Keeping a secret that big from a friend and all . . ."

"We're still friends?" he asked.

"Yeah," she replied after a pause.

"Buffy, we've all got secrets from each other. It's just . . . I'm different, okay. I've always been different. I can't change it. And ever since I came to Sunnydale, I've had to hide it. Play being normal. . . . just like you. You understand that."

"Yeah, I guess I can," she smile. "You're just a little better at it than I am."

Buffy put her hands on her hips.

"Hey, you said something about ice cream."

"Yeah," he grinned back, reassured.

They began walking together again. The pace this time was more relaxed.

"So . . . where do we go from here?" Buffy asked, not sure whether it was the right thing to say.

"Lets just hang out and see where it leads us, if that's okay. I promise, no more Buster Keaton film fests."

"Yeah, that was kinda lame," she agreed, "I mean first date and all."

"You were watching the Exit light over the door half the time!" Scott shook his head and paused. When he spoke again, his tone was more serious.

"But, friends need friends sometimes . . . for company while we're sorta on the same path. And, hell, I sure could use a friend right about now. How about you?"

"Yeah, I'd like that. . . but, Scott. . . . what's going to happen to you? I mean now that you're on Ethan Rayne's shit list."

"I don't know," he replied quietly, "I've tried to imagine where I'm going, . . . I can see things sometimes, . . . things that have happened or are going to happen. It's part of me being different . . . but I see 'em as drawings or words, you know, poetry or sentences and stuff . . ."

"Weird! . . ." Buffy said without any sarcasm. She was honestly fascinated. "Willow's like that. She touches things and can see where they've been."

"Anyway, when I've tried to see stuff about me, every direction I look . . . there's only this . . . darkness . . . all around."

Buffy stopped in mid stride. Scott halted with her. She looked him directly in the eyes.

"And me?" she asked fearfully after a pause, "Can you see anything about me?"

Scott stared at her blankly for a moment. He then began to smile. As the grin spread, Buffy realized it was the first honestly happy smile she had ever seen on him. The effect was infectious and without knowing why, Buffy broke into a grin as well. She nodded and her eyes sparkled as if to say, "Come on, spill it!" Scott then turned his head up to face the sky full of stars. Buffy followed his gaze.

"Yeah . . . up there," he said pointing at the thousands of distant suns and the spinning of galaxies, "That's what I see."

Buffy didn't say anything. Rather she relished the instant, a kind of night sensation she had never experienced in spite of the years she had spent patrolling the darkness. She imagined the starlight was pouring down over her, washing and cleansing away the dankness and filth of death she constantly battled.

Buffy took in a deep breath of the cool air and looked back at Scott. For the first time in weeks, if for only a moment, she felt as if a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. As Scott turned his gaze back to her, Buffy slowly wrapped her arms around him, giving him a hug.

She added a little extra Slayer squeeze, something she had shared only with Xander when she thanked him for reviving her in the Master's Chamber. The pressure of her arms and chest on his ribcage forced some of the air out of Xander's lungs, and Buffy thought it was cute when Xander squeaked.

This time she was puzzled. Scott's chest didn't compress, and he didn't make a sound.

Hesitating, he finally returned her embrace. They then continued walking down the sidewalk, arm in arm.

"Hey, Friend. How far is it to that coffee shop?"

"Just on the next block."

Faith didn't think much of patrolling alone. There was no one to gossip with, no one to show off to. Vampires didn't count, even though she had a few witty comebacks for the same lame humor from the undead. If you've heard it once, you've heard it a thousand times she thought.

She moved with stealth amidst the graves and monuments, listening carefully for any sounds that would direct her to a newly risen vampire. As she stepped around the wall of a crypt she spied the figure of a tall young woman with long brown hair seated on the steps. Faith didn't recognize her in the dim light. She approached cautiously.

Suddenly the unknown woman sensed she was being watched. She leaped to her feet, holding out a wooden cross festooned with garlic in front of her and a small letter opener gripped in her fist like a dagger. The faint rays of light filtering in from the street lamps glittered on the dull blade.

"Cords?" Faith exclaimed.

"Uhh . . . Hi, Faith. . . ." Cordelia answered sheepishly, "Buffy around?"

"No! Geez, man! I always heard cheerleaders weren't the sharpest crayons in the box, but this is one of the dumbest ass things I've ever seen you do!"

Cordelia lowered the cross and letter opener. She sank back down on the stone steps of the crypt. Faith walked over and joined her.

"What the hell are you doing here? You could get yourself killed!"

"Don't yell at me!" the head cheerleader snapped. "Buffy's always yelling at me."

"Okay, I won't yell, . . . MUCH! And you still haven't answered my question. What are you doing . . .?"

Faith suddenly noticed Cordelia's make up was all smudged.

"Hey, you know your mascara is all fucked up," Suddenly Faith stopped, "Oooh, I get it. That rat Xander finally fessed up."

Cordelia didn't answer. She sat glaring at the cold stone.

"Cords, What happened after I left?"

"When Xander told me about him and that little red witch, I ran out of the Bronze. I didn't know where to go, so I came out here to think. Buffy does, so why can't I?"

"'Cause you're not Buffy, pom pom brain!" Faith laughed, "Besides, Buffy doesn't think, she broods . . . she mopes . . . she moans and whines. And believe me, you don't want to use her as a role model for your love life."

"Nah, I guess not. . . ." Cordelia smiled ever so slightly, "You know, I really should thank you for making Xander come clean . . . but I also wish he'd kept his stupid mouth shut! That asshole . . .!"

Cordelia stopped in mid curse and wiped her eyes.

"Yeah, pretty sucky," the Slayer nodded.

Cordelia smiled at Faith. For a moment the two stared at each other, then Cordelia turned her gaze away from Faith out into the darkness of the cemetery and sighed.

"So what the hell do I do now? None of my old friends'll talk to me. With Xander around, I can't hang out with you guys. I can't even be a weirdo anymore!"

"Hold it! Back up the Cord-mobile, here!" Faith contradicted her, "You call the shots about who you hang out with, not that jerk, Xander!"

Cordelia didn't answer. Faith stared at Cordelia as the circumstances of the disfunctional Xander/Cordelia relationship became crystal clear.

"Oh man!" Faith said sympathetically, "This is the first time you've ever really loved a guy, isn't it!"

Cordelia wouldn't look at Faith. She only bit her lip and stared at the ground. Finally, Cordelia slowly nodded.

"Aw shit, Cords, this _really sucks!_ Listen, you gotta start the healing fast, okay? First thing you do is get mad!"

"Huh?"

"Aw come on! This is Cordelia Chase I'm talking to, not Willow 'candyass' Rosenburg! Get mad! Angry! Pissed off!"

Cordelia scowled.

"That's a _little_ better. But when you get mad, make it count! Hit the bastard that did this to you. He's the one who hurt you. He's the one who tore your guts out. Geez, girl, you gave him the most precious thing you had . . . your first love . . . and that scumbag! . . ."

As Faith spoke, Cordelia felt the emotions reappearing inside her. Her muscles tightened as she grew angrier and angrier. She suddenly realized she enjoyed what Faith was saying as she felt the old Cordelia surging back to the surface. Stress was good. It was what she fed on.

"You corner him in the hallway tomorrow and scream like hell at him!" Faith said, recognizing the transformation, "Call him every name in the book, humiliate the piss out of him. And make sure you yell it real loud so everybody can hear exactly what he did with Willow, all the details, when, where!

"What about that little red haired witch . . . Willow?" Cordelia asked, her voice laced with ice.

Faith thought for a moment.

"Ya know, don't waste any air on her," the Slayer said putting on a devilish grin. "Just the Ice Princess treatment should do it. Leave that to Oz. He'll make her pay _bigtime._ But . . . a couple of squirts of cod liver oil through the air vents in her locker should let her know to watch her step!"

Cordelia's eyes glowed with the petty maliciousness of the act. She imagined the gooey fish oil dribbling down all over Willow's precious books. With any luck, some important, rare document on loan from Giles would be among the bundle. She smiled as she rose to her feet.

"Hey, hey, hey, babe, where you going?" Faith said, taking Cordelia by the arm and pulling her back down next to her on the crypt steps. "We're not finished yet."

"Ooo! There's more?" the head cheerleader glowed with anticipation.

"Yeah, that's only part one, the easy part. It's what you do after that, that's hard."

"What's this hard part?" Cordelia asked, uncertainty in her voice. She didn't like Faith's sudden shift in tone.

"Ya gotta make the decision . . . is there anything worth putting back together. What you and Xander had, that first magic feeling . . . it's gone, blown away. But is there enough of something else left behind? Is it gonna be worth all the work . . . and the pain?"

Cordelia's angry smile faded away. She looked down sorrowfully, then gazed back up at Faith.

"I don't know . . ."

"Actually, it's kinda good that you don't know," Faith said, putting her arm around Cordelia's shoulder. "It may take time. Don't rush it. Sometimes something happens that'll tell you. Other times, the question just answers itself."

Cordelia stared at the Slayer. As she asked Faith the next question, Cordelia already knew what the answer would be.

"How do _you_ know all this stuff?" she asked quietly as if she didn't want the stones to overhear the response.

"Hey. . . . voice of experience!" Faith announced with proud irony.

"And what did you do? For the hard part?"

Faith looked out into the darkness of the cemetery before she answered.

"I'm here, aren't I?" the Slayer said, her bravado failing to cover the slightest hint of regret in her voice, "You don't see anybody puppy dogging behind me."

Faith and Cordelia made no move to leave. Lost in their own thoughts, each sat motionless on the steps of the crypt.


	5. Chapter 5

**_The Better Path - part 5  
by Gaius Petronius_**

Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all the characters from the show are the exclusive property of Joss Whedon, Fox, and Mutant Enemy. None of the characters belong to me except Anson MacDuffie. I just like to torture them.

**Chapter 6 - "Don't let go."**

The library was empty. A solitary light shown in Rupert Giles' office where the Sunnydale High librarian was alone pulling an all nighter. He stood leaning forward before his desk, his open palms extended across the the polished surface. Giles gazed down at the Luxor Necropolis Text he and Willow had been examining that morning.

He was angry that he had made so little progress on the translation. It was only Latin and simple Latin at that. The vocabulary was plain, almost "See Spot Run" level. But the verbs and clauses all seemed completely out of place. None of it made any sense. For a few moments, he didn't move.

Then, slowly, he straightened up, stared vacantly around his office and began pacing. As he walked, he muttered the first lines, the only fragment from the Necropolis Text he had been able to translate.

" . . in all things . . . the end is the beginning . . . and the beginning is the end . . ."

Giles stopped pacing and looked up at the ceiling.

". . . the end is the beginning, and the beginning is the end?" he repeated to himself.

He rubbed his hand all across his face as if trying the force an answer out of his exhausted brain. He then sighed, shook his head and strode slowly out of his office into the dark library. Taking a breather, Giles wandered around the tables and stacks of books.

He paused by the table piled high with books where Buffy sat that afternoon. He glanced down at the volumes and his eyes fell on the large copy of Dante's Inferno. Giles reached down, lifted it up, held it before him, and stroked the gold embossed cover. He then stared straight ahead.

Giles remembered the sound of Buffy's distressed voice.

"Giles? . . . for what I did to Angel . . . is there a special place for me? . . . Here . . . in Hell?"

Giles lowered the book back to the table. His face was lined with concern for his Slayer. He turned and walked slowly back into his office, stopping at a wall cabinet held closed with a small brass padlock. He slipped a set of keys out of his pocket, unlocked the padlock and slid the cabinet open. Inside sat a small black notebook shaped volume, a shot glass and a bottle of single malt Scotch. The later was covered in dust, clearly not having been used in a long time.

Giles reached into the cabinet past the bottle and shot glass, retrieved the black notebook, and closed the cabinet drawer. He snapped the padlock shut.

Sitting down behind his desk, Giles began thumbing through the notebook. He stopped and read aloud the page in front of him.

"When my heart and soul are breaking," he recited, barely aware of his own voice.  
"And all the spirit inside me aching,  
Hold me back by a gentle touch,  
And so my pain won't hurt so much."

Giles stared up from the notebook and sighed deeply.

"Buffy . . . " he said in a whisper, "I pray I will never need to use this."

Giles continued thumbing through the notebook, reading by the light of his desk lamp. Outside his office, the books piled high in the stacks stood like lonely guardians in the dark of the night.

The coffee shop was modest in size and intimate. Set down about six feet below street level, the entrance stairway was wide enough for two people to pass abreast. Small round tables were spread through the center of the shop, each able to accommodate four curved wooden chairs. Booths with leather covered seats lined the walls. The subdued lighting made each table feel like its own private little world.

Soft jazz music played through strategically placed speakers and the gentle hum of customer voices and conversation could be heard in the background. Only a third of the tables were occupied. Buffy and Scott sat at one off to the side. Buffy was preoccupied polishing off her second hot fudge sundae. Scott had finished his first, his attention now focused on drawing with a pencil on the back of his paper place mat.

"Man, this is good!" Buffy said though a mouth full of ice cream, "How'd you find this place?"

Scott glanced up at Buffy every now and then as he sketched.

"Just wandering around one night. It's pretty cool. I come here to write and draw."

"You sure you don't want another one?" Buffy asked, pointing at her sundae.

"Nah, that's okay," he replied looking at Buffy again.

Buffy finished the last bite, slid the bowl away and sat back in her chair. She let out a big sigh and patted her stomach.

"Wow! Gonna have to work this off tomorrow! A little extra aerobics time with Gilesy."

Scott didn't answer. He just continued drawing. Buffy eyed him with curiosity.

"So whatcha doing there while I've been stuffing my face?"

"Hang on," he said looking at Buffy, "Don't move for a sec."

He studied her profile, returned his gaze to the drawing on the place mat and made a final few strokes with the pencil. Satisfied with the drawing, he sat back from the table. Buffy craned her neck forward.

"So? . . . are you gonna show it to me?" she asked.

"Promise you won't laugh?"

"Is it supposed to be funny?"

"No . . ." Scott replied with hesitation.

"Then I won't laugh," she answered honestly.

Scott slid the place mat across the table to Buffy. She picked it up, looked at the drawing and her eyes widened. She gave the tiniest gasp. Looking back at her from the place mat was a sketch portrait of herself, the hair flowing with the soft impressionistic strokes of the pencil but a sharp pointed intensity in the eyes. Buffy stared speechless for a few moments at the image of herself. The smile on the face of the portrait bespoke strength and self confidence.

"Wow . . ." she said, her voice barely audible above the background noise in the coffee shop, "This is really good. . . . but it's not me."

"Yes it is. . . . That's how I see you."

Buffy didn't answer. She slid the place mat back to Scott but he stopped her.

"No, you keep it. I did it for you. Sort of a make up for the bomb out on the first date."

"Thanks," Buffy kept the place mat. For a moment she said nothing and then asked wistfully, "You know what I'd like? Could you do one of you?"

"Oh, I don't know," Scott balked. "Self portraits are really tough. Besides, I don't know what I look like to other people."

"Aw come on. You can do it. . . .for me?" Buffy poked him playfully.

Scott hesitated.

"Well . . . here, lemme try this."

Scott pulled a spare place mat to himself and quickly began scribbling on the bottom. Buffy watched as his pencil moved rapidly across the paper. Rather than a portrait, he quickly sketched what appeared to be a cartoon character, a cross between a small dragon and a young demon or gargoyle. The creature had large eyes, short little paws and sported a big grin across its small snout. It clasped a pencil and a pad in its left paw.

"What is it?" Buffy asked fascinated by the juxtaposition of the creature's sunny personality with features that could have come right out of the Demon Dimension.

"Promise you won't laugh?" Scott said as he put the finishing touches of shading on the drawing.

"I already promised!"

"It's me."

"Huh?" Buffy's forehead rose in surprise, "You?"

"Sorta like my alter ego," Scott replied self consciously. "When I draw or write. . . sometimes it feels like it's not me . . . I can't believe all of this stuff coming out of my head . . . so . . . I pretend it's him."

Buffy stared at Scott and shook her head.

"Weirdo!"

"You're not gonna dump me, are you?"

"Nah," Buffy said with a wave of her hand, "Who am I to judge . . . with my dating record."

"You're too hard on yourself, ya know," he said gently

"That's what everybody says," Buffy sighed and a look of sadness descended on her face.

". . . it wasn't your fault . . . Angel, I mean . . ." Scott said after a moment. He realized he was about to cross into forbidden territory.

"Scott, I really don't want to . . ." Buffy turned away.

Scott interrupted her as he reached across the table. He couldn't believe he was taking the plunge. He took her hand in his.

"Buffy . . . I told you . . . I know all about it. . . ."

Buffy turned back to Scott. For a moment he couldn't tell whether it was a trick of the dim lighting in the cafe but he saw her eyes glistening. He decided to take the chance and wade in deeper.

"I think I can even see it . . . in my mind . . . what happened. You gotta talk, Buffy . . . to somebody . . . might as well be to a friend."

Buffy gave in.

"I think of him every day," she began slowly and painfully but never taking her eyes off of Scott, "It just won't go away . . . what I had to do. I can't get it out of my head. At night, when I'm asleep, . . . I see him in front of me. We're all kinds of different places, the ocean, in the cemetery . . . and I still kill him over and over."

"Buffy, no, that's not you . . ."

"And all the time, the look on his face . . . like he can't believe what I'm doing . . . what I did to him."

Scott listened. He held Buffy's hands tighter on the table top. She was silent for a moment looking down at the empty sundae dish. Suddenly, she turned to Scott. He felt a chill run down his back at the desperate intensity in her eyes.

Scott? You see things, right? Could you see him? Now? Angel I mean . . . in the Demon Dimension. Could you? . . ."

Scott sat back in shock as if someone had struck him across the face. Suddenly his expression was awash with fear. He pulled his hands out of Buffy's. Looking at her, he was almost overwhelmed by fright. He quickly turned away.

". . . not there . . ." he said trembling. "Please don't ask me to look there!"

Buffy was silent, surprised by Scott's reaction. She gazed deeply into his blue eyes for a few moments, searching for a reason for his response. At first she only sensed his blind panic. Suddenly, it all fell into place in her mind, the torment she now saw him struggling with.

". . .Oh my God! . . ." she said slowly with awe in a barely audible whisper.

Scott tried to avoid Buffy's gaze but couldn't. He finally turned his eyes up to look at her.

". . . you've been there . . ." she whispered.

". . . no . . ."

". . . you're lying . . ." she said softly and sadly, with sympathy and no accusing tone in her voice.

Scott stared down at their empty sundae bowls on the table. He breathed deeply and returned his gaze to Buffy. For a few moments their eyes locked, each freely sharing their emotions with the other.

". . . that's what he has on you . . . Ethan . . ." Buffy said, her eyes widening with the realization.

Scott didn't answer.

". . . oh no . . . he can send you back, can't he?"

Scott still was silent. Only his wide blue eyes pleaded for someone to help him. A firm resolve surged across Buffy's expression. She stood up and pulled her chair over next to him.

"Listen to me. Nothing's gonna happen to you. I won't let that bastard hurt you! You hear me?"

"I'm afraid, Buffy . . . all the time . . ." he whispered, the pain still audible in his voice

"I won't let it happen! You protected me, and I never even knew it. Now it's my turn."

Suddenly Buffy had an idea. She placed her hand over the front of her blouse and felt around. Her fingers closed on the leather thong with the scarab stone attached. She pulled it over her head and reached out with both hands to Scott. Gently, she slipped the stone over his head,. It came to rest against the outside of his shirt, the soft blue of the scarab standing out against the white cloth. Buffy ran her fingers down the leather thong until they touched the stone itself.

". . . You keep an eye on Scott, here," she spoke softly to the ancient relic as she caressed it, "He needs you more than I do."

Buffy hesitated before she continued.

"Ya see, . . . he's a special friend of mine now."

"No, Buffy, don't . . . What about on patrol?" Scott protested.

"Screw patrol! That's what my fists are for!" she said grinning as she pressed the scarab stone against his chest "This is what friends do."

As she did under the street lamp, Buffy wrapped her arms around Scott reassuringly. Scott returned the embrace.

"Now you gotta tell me," she whispered, "No more secrets."

"Okay . . . "

Scott paused, then struggled to explain.

"Buffy, you have to tell Mr. Giles right away! It's Ethan Rayne. He's after one of the manuscripts Mr. Giles bought at the auction. It's called the Luxor Necropolis Text.

Buffy's eyes widened as she recognized the name of the manuscript Willow and Giles were fussing over that afternoon.

"Using it, someone can draw demons up out of the Demon Dimension - out of Hell. It even has a formula for summoning the Angel of Death and exchanging living souls for those of the condemned. Rayne had a fragment of a copy, only a few lines, but now with this almost complete one . . . he's going nuts, Buffy! He'll do anything to get his hands on it! . . . he wanted me to steal it!"

"Why?" Buffy asked shaking her head, "Giles can't even read the thing."

"Rayne can!" Scott said controlling his voice, "He wants to marshal an army of demons, take out both you and Mr. Giles. Then he'll turn on Trick and his vampires and seize control of the Hellmouth! And he can do it, too! Demons and the condemned of Hell aren't restricted to night like vampires. And they can blend right in; many of them you can't tell 'em apart from people!"

Buffy, her mind racing, struggled to understand.

"It has a formula to raise a condemned soul from the Demon Dimension?"

"Not exactly," he explained, "It's an exchange. The mortal and demon spheres must be kept in balance. It's like a trade, a soul for a soul."

". . . then Angel . . ." she muttered to herself.

"What?"

"Nothing," Buffy quickly brushed off his question, "Scott, I'm sorry I asked you about Angel. I'll warn Giles. I promise."

Scott breathed a sigh of relief.

"Thanks. I owe you."

"Hey, . . . it's gonna be okay," she said, reaching out and taking his hand in hers, "As long as you wear my little pendant, nobody can get you."

"Is that really true?" Scott asked as he saw himself standing at another crossroad.

"I think so. It's a couple thousand years old. Giles says it has a special magic."

"Then . . . for a friend," he said slowly with resolve.

Scott closed his eyes. He held Buffy's hand tightly in his. His head tipped forward and, in a moment, his body began to tremble as he did at the first mention of the Demon Dimension. His grip grew even tighter. Buffy tried to pull her hand away but couldn't. The grip was like a vice.

"Scott?" she exclaimed, "What's happening?"

Even with his eyes closed, the fear swept across Scott's face once more. Beads of sweat ran down his forehead. His grasp of Buffy's hand remained firm, his breathing labored but steady.

Suddenly, Buffy understood.

"Scott? No! Don't do it!"

"Please . . . Buffy . . . " his voice echoed back as if whispered from a great distance, "Don't let go. . . . or I'll fall back in."

Hearing his words, Buffy instantly wrapped her free hand around Scott's wrist. Her fingers clamped down with her full Slayer's strength.

"I'm right here!" she answered, her voice unwavering, "I'm holding you as tight as I can. I won't let go!"

Scott didn't answer.

"Scott? Scott, can you hear me? Come back now! Don't go any further. I don't want you to do this!"

Suddenly the fear passed from Scott's face. He ceased trembling. His hands suddenly fell limp in Buffy's grasp. His body swayed. Fearing he might pitch forward. Buffy placed her hands on his shoulders to steady him. She felt as if she were passing her Slayer's life force to him, wrapping around him and bringing him back.

"Scott? Scott? Are you okay?"

Slowly, Scott's eyes opened and took a deep breath. Buffy waited, torn with anticipation, for him to speak. Finally his lips moved.

"I saw him, Buffy," he whispered

"Angel? You saw Angel?" she replied, her voice no louder than his.

"It was pitch black . . . dark everywhere, and he wasn't moving, . . . I think he was chained. But I could see this small beam of light. Like sunlight through a tiny hole in a ceiling. It was coming down from someplace up above. And it was looking for him, searching, all the time searching."

Buffy stared at Scott, expecting more. He only shook his head.

"I'm sorry. I couldn't see anything else. Something was coming. I had to get out of there fast."

Buffy placed her hand on Scott's bruised face and stroked gently.

"Thank you," she said tenderly.

"I'm sorry, Buffy . . . I didn't dare get any closer."

"No. It's all right. I can't believe what you just did . . . and . . . I think I understand what you saw."

"Buffy."

"Yeah?"

"Thanks . . . for not letting go . . ."

Buffy slowly reached out to Scott again. She wrapped her hand around the back of his neck and gently drew his head towards her. At the same time she leaned forward until both rested their foreheads against each other as if neither had the strength to remain upright on their own.

By the early hours after midnight, the coffee shop was almost empty. Scott and Buffy still sat at their corner table. Both sipped coffee and talked quietly. Finally as if on a prearranged signal, they stood at the same time and walked out together. Scott put his arm around Buffy's shoulder and Buffy nestled her head against him as they both climbed the stairs out to the street.

Emerging from the coffee shop entrance, Buffy and Scott walked together under the artificial light from the street lamps. As they moved out of the man made beams into the darkness, Scott stopped and stared up at the night sky. Away from the interference of the city lights, the sky overhead was ablaze with stars.

With her arm still around his waist, Buffy halted and followed his gaze. They watched together only for a moment. Then both looked back down to the street and continued walking away into the night.

In the dark, Xander scrambled over the seven foot high stone wall surrounding the grounds of the Chase mansion. He landed in the bushes with a thrashing thud and sat still for a moment, whispering a prayer to himself that he hadn't awakened the whole household. Carefully he rose to his feet and tip toed across the open yard to the stucco walls of Cordelia's home.

He spotted the window on the second floor where the faint glow of a night light peeked through the curtains. Xander bent down and collected several small pebbles. He gently tossed one underhanded up at the window. It missed its target completely, not even bouncing off the sill or the side of the mansion. The little stone fell back down, dropping in Xander's hair.

"Damn It!" he swore quietly

Brushing out the pebble, he tried again. This time his pebble bounced off the window with a faint click. Xander waited but there was no response from the bedroom. He tried again, lofting another pebble upwards. Again, a soft click and no response.

"Come on, Cordy!" he muttered through clenched teeth.

Xander threw the next pebble overhand. The missile struck the window square on and punched a hole in the glass. A shattering sound echoed across the mansion grounds. Cordelia, in her nightgown and robe, rushed to the window and raised the sash. She scanned the property grounds, immediately spotting Xander on the lawn below.

"What the hell do you want?" she said, her voice hushed but seething.

"You ran out of the Bronze before I could finish!" he whispered back, "I've been looking all over for you!"

"Well you've found me! Now get outta here!"

"No!" he said with marshmallow firmness.

"I'm not talking to you!" she snapped, folding her arms over her chest.

"Yes you are!"

"No, I'm not!"

"Yes, you are!"

"Am Not!"

"Whadda ya think you're doing right now?" he answered with consummate Xander logic.

"Shut up!"

"I'm not leaving until you let me explain."

"You told me everything I need to know at the Bronze," Cordelia said, the hurt clear in her voice.

"I'm not leaving," he replied taking advantage of what he thought was her weakening.

"Yes you are!" she shot back.

"No, I'm not!"

"Yes you are!"

"Yes, I'm not!" Xander stumbled over the response.

"No, you are!" Cordelia followed.

"Yes, I am!"

"No, you're not!"

_"_Ohh! Shut up!" Cordelia stomped her foot. "You're getting me all confused!"

Xander planted his feet firmly on the lawn and, imitating Cordelia, folded his arms across his chest.

"I'm not leaving, Cordy!" he proclaimed to the stucco walls. "Mountains couldn't move me!"

"You kibble brain! That doesn't even make sense!"

"Oh, . . . well . . . I'm still not leaving . . ." he floundered and then after a pause, blurted it out. ". . . I love you . . ."

Cordelia heard the words and hesitated. She didn't reply but looked longingly down at Xander.

"And I'm not moving until you forgive me!" he announced.

Suddenly the furious yapping of a small dog resounded across the Chase property. Like a little torpedo, a white toy poodle shot out of the bushes. Barking furiously, it aimed straight for Xander. The dog leaped right at his leg, latched onto his trousers and ripped wildly at the material. Xander spun crazily on one foot as he struggled to shake off his attacker.

"Holy Geez! Ow! Ow!"

"Xander! Xander!" Cordelia's distressed voice joined the barking and cursing.

Xander staggered towards the outside wall, all the while the little beast tearing at his pants.

"Ow! Get off me you little . . ."

"Mercedes! Mercedes!" Cordelia ordered, "You let go of him this instant!"

A light came on in another window of the second floor.

"Cordelia! What's all that racket!" her drowsy father yelled.

"Nothing, Daddy! Mercedes is just chasing . . . a rat."

Xander slammed against the spot in the wall where he so gallantly clambered over just a few minutes earlier. With one final furious shake, he dislodged Cordelia's poodle, leaped up on the wall and fell over the top. He landed on the concrete sidewalk outside with a thud.

"OW! Geez, man!"

Cordelia closed her window, rushed downstairs and opened the front door. The poodle ran eagerly across the yard and stopped at her feet. It clenched a torn piece of Xander's pants in its teeth. Cordelia put her hands on her hips and scolded her pet.

"Mercedes Porsce Catera Chase! Look what you've done!"

The poodle wiggled its tail and worried the scrap of cloth in its jaws. It then dropped the shred at Cordelia's feet as if offering her a present. Cordelia's scowl vanished and a wicked little grin creased her face. She bent down, scooped her poodle up in her arms and hugged it.

"Good dog, Mercedes! You're a good doggie!" she said as she stroked its curly fur.

It was now after one a.m. in the Sunnydale High Library. Rupert Giles sat unmoving in his office chair behind his desk. Before him on the top of the desk, the little black notebook lay open and, in his lap, the Necropolis Text sat rolled up as a scroll once more. The librarian leaned back and ever so slowly nodded off.

Across town, Willow sat on her bedroom floor at the foot of her bed. Wearing her pink night clothes, she stared at a picture of Oz she held carefully in her hand. In front of her a small lit candle flickered in the darkness. The box lot of jewelry Giles bought for her and Buffy at the auction lay open by her side.

With her free hand she reached up to her neck and gripped the little scarab on the leather thong in her fingers, stroking it tenderly. She then felt around in the box and drew out the three ancient coins she had shown earlier to Buffy. Rubbing them together and still staring at Oz's photograph, she whispered to herself and to powers beyond her understanding.

". . . oh please . . . please . . . tell me what he's thinking . . . or let me just see where he is."

Willow closed her eyes and tightened her grip on the photo. She tried to visualize Oz in her mind as she did with the coins that morning. She remained like this for a few moments and then relaxed. From the sad look on her face, it was clear she hadn't seen anything. Willow let out her breath in one long sigh.

Oz didn't head home but drove aimlessly around the streets of Sunnydale after the Bronze closed. He glanced at the van's dashboard clock as he pulled up to a stop sign on the outskirts of town. 2:30 A.M.

He squinted through the windshield at the signs across the intersection. One pointing to the left was the route to the interstate. He could hear the ever present roar of truck traffic headed south to Los Angeles. The other sign pointing to the right had written "Downtown Sunnydale - Local Points." He contemplated both for a moment. Then Oz hung his head, shook it and smiled to himself. He turned the van out onto the road to the right and drove off into the dark.

On the walk home from the coffee shop, Buffy and Scott passed the west entrance to the cemetery. She noticed with mild curiosity that she felt no urge to glance over her shoulder at the walls surrounding the city of the dead. Not that she fully trusted Faith, but her attention was clearly elsewhere. As they finally approached the front steps of the Summers' home, she turned back to face Scott.

"Well, some second date, huh," she said with a smile.

"Beats the first anyway," he grinned back.

"Like night and day . . . so, I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yeah," he nodded, "Your mom's not gonna yell at you for coming in this late?"

"Nah," Buffy said with a dismissive wave of her hand, "She's getting a better handle on the Slayer schedule. Besides, any lecture will be worth it . . . cause I found a new special friend tonight . . .."

"Me, too."

He and Buffy silently gazed into each other's eyes. Finally, she closed hers and leaned towards Scott. He slowly did the same, and both were about to kiss. Suddenly his eyes snapped open, he pulled back from her and put his hands on her shoulders, gently pushing Buffy away.

"No Buffy . . . don't . . . we shouldn't."

Buffy stared at him, the hurt expression on her face rivaling her shock when he broke up with her before. Scott saw her confusion.

"Oh, no!" he struggled to explain, "It's not like I don't want to! Believe me I want to more than anything but . . . well, I don't know how long we'll be on the same path together."

"What is it?" she asked fearfully, "What do you see? There's something you're not telling me!"

"No, it's just . . . after what I said tonight . . .well, when Rayne finds out . . . he's not going to trust me anymore. I won't be . . . useful."

Buffy's eyes widened in horror at the realization of Scott's fate.

"So I'll tell you 'I'll see you tomorrow,' but some morning in the next few days you'll come to school and . . . I just won't be there anymore. You'll ask around, but no one will notice. I'll drop off the school lists. You'll go to my foster parents' place but they'll be long gone. Rayne pays them for my room and board . . . I'll just . . . disappear."

Buffy wanted to say something, anything to contradict Scott's prediction but the words wouldn't come.

"I've hurt you enough," he said stroking her cheek, "I can't let you care about me . . . with what's going to happen. So . . . the way I figure it, we better just close the book now and say goodnight."

Scott turned to walk away. Buffy quickly took a few steps that brought her to his side. Grabbing his arm, she spun him to face her. Before he realized what was happening, Buffy wrapped her arms around him and kissed him with a passion she hadn't felt in months. He tenderly put his arms around her and brought her close against him. They held each other tightly and silently for a few moments more.

"There . . ." she whispered as she buried her face in his dark brown hair, "You're not going anywhere. 'Cause, I found a new friend tonight. And I'm not letting go."

Scott closed his eyes.

"I know you now," Buffy continued, "Inside, you're stronger than anything Ethan Rayne can throw at you. You're the guy I just saw travel to Hell and back . . . for me.

"Buffy, I'd do anything for you," Scott said, "But what about Rayne?"

"Listen, I can get Giles to help. He'll find the answer to anything. He knows how to handle Ethan Rayne."

"You really think so?" Scott asked, daring to imagine the next few days. Buffy grinned reassuringly.

"Oh yeah! Giles, like, he's always there. He's a little drifty. Reading all the time does that to you. But when the chips are down, there's nothing he wouldn't do for me."

"He's really important to you," Scott marveled.

"Yeah, he's the reason I am who I am. I don't know what I'd do without Giles."

"I guess I better lay low."

"We'll figure something out," Buffy said as she squeezed his hand, "Don't do anything dumb. For now, follow the Slayer's first rule. Just stay alive, okay? You gonna be all right?"

"Yeah, I'm used to taking care of myself."

Buffy paused. There was something in the tone of his response that implied so much more than he was revealing. They gazed at each other for a moment more. He leaned forward and gently kissed her again. She touched the skin of his cheek with her fingertips.

"Goodnight," he said.

"Goodnight. I'll see you tomorrow!"

Scott turned away and walked back down the front walk to the street. Buffy watched him leave for only a few seconds. Quickly, she unlocked the front door and disappeared inside. Scott, hearing the front door shut, glanced back as he walked away. He stopped for a moment at the street corner and sighed as he stared at Buffy's house. An upstairs light went on briefly then snapped off.

Suddenly, from the bushes behind him, four vampires leaped out, grabbed him by the hands and neck and dragged him struggling out of sight.

Ethan Rayne had been waiting for over an hour by his beat up recliner. Like a schoolmarm preparing to discipline a disruptive student, he stood with his hands behind his back. Trick's goons were never the fastest cars on the track. It seems whenever they had an errand to run near Sunnydale High they would always find some excuse for getting "distracted."

Suddenly, a door leading into a side alley by the store flew open with a bang. The four vampires dragged Scott in and threw him on the floor at Ethan's feet. Scott sported a large bruise on his face. There were scratches on his hands and the beginning of a black eye. He gasped for breath as if he had suffered multiple blows to the abdomen.

"Ah, there you are!" Ethan said, "Excellent job! Thank you."

Ethan handed one of the vampires a small white envelope.

"Make sure this gets to Trick," he said, "Tell him it's the date and time of the next blood delivery at the hospital."

The lackey vampire stuffed the envelope in his pocket and turned to leave.

"And boys . . ." Ethan called after them. The vampires halted in the doorway and looked back like naughty children caught lurking around the cookie jar.

"No peaking . . ." Ethan waggled his finger.

The vampires left, slamming the door behind them. Scott sat on the floor, his eyes darting back and forth searching for a way to escape. Finally he looked up fearfully at Ethan.

"So . . . I hear you put on quite a show tonight for the Slayer," Rayne said pacing back and forth.

Scott turned away and didn't answer.

"These little excursions of yours are getting expensive. I'm running out of favors I can do for Mr. Trick," Ethan said, the threatening tone in his voice rising, "Now . . . do you have what I want?"

Scott glared back at his captor.

"It's over, Mr. Rayne!" he blurted out, "I told her everything! About you and the manuscript! What it is and why you want it!"

"Oh you did, did you?" Ethan's evil grin spread across his pale face, "Everything, Rarak? Did you tell her who _you_ are? . . . _What_ you are?"

Ethan chuckled under his breath.

"I seriously doubt it," he said, his tone dripping sarcasm like venom, "But she does know about the manuscript, you say . . .and what it can do? Excellent! Brilliant move. There's hope for you yet, Rarak!"

Bewildered by Ethan's attitude, Scott stared up in horror. He swore he could see a faint malevolent glow in Rayne's eyes.

"You get the Slayer to trust you, mesmerize her with your vision thing and that pathetic look you do so well. Maybe a little romance on the front porch."

Scott's fear suddenly turned to anger as he realized he and Buffy were spied on the whole evening.

"Then you tell her about the Necropolis Text and how it has the power to exchange souls! . . and all she can think of is her beloved Angel . . . and how she can exchange her soul for his!"

Scott staggered to his feet and glared at Ethan.

"So tomorrow, she'll steal the manuscript and bring it right to me! 'Cause that Ripper is too stupid to be able to read it! And in one fell swoop, I'll hold the key to the opening of the entire Demon Dimension; I'll have that obnoxious Trick off my back and be rid of that insufferable Ripper and his meddlesome Slayer! All at the same time!"

Scott felt his body shaking with fury and fear. He realized his fists were clenching.

". . . no, Buffy . . . no . . . oh Gods, what did I do to you!" he voiced his despair out loud.

Ethan Rayne replied, relishing his own sarcasm.

"And the utter brilliance of your plan, Rarak, is you didn't have to do a thing to her! You didn't have to _hurt her!"_

Ethan shook his head and laughed quietly. Though soft, the laughter rang in Scott's ears. He turned and scrambled out of the room through the side door. He dashed into the alleyway, slamming head on into a garbage can. Both went down with a clatter. Quickly recovering, Scott raced off into the night with Ethan's laughter like a banshee's wail pursuing him whichever direction he took.

Ethan looked up from his scotch glass and realized Scott was gone.

"Rarak? . . . Rarak? . . . " He shook his head again and sighed. "You've got to stop disappearing like that. I was going to offer you a drink. I feel like celebrating your fabulous victory here. . . . Oh well."

Ethan strode over to the little side table by his recliner and swept up the half empty Scotch bottle. He held it up in front of him as if proposing a toast. Ethan contemplated the bottle for a moment.

"Ethan old boy," he announced to the empty store room, "This may sound a tad silly and woefully cliched . . . but what the hell! 'To world domination!' Should be bloody fun!"

Ethan put the bottle to his lips and took a long swig.

After leaving Scott on the front walk, Buffy lay in her bed but couldn't sleep. Her restless mind continually conjured up images of Angel as he was swallowed up into the Demon Dimension. She struggled to imagine Scott's vision of Hell and Angel's form lying in the darkness chained to the stone floor. Through it all appeared the rolled up scroll on Giles' desk. She could hear both Scott and Giles describing its unnatural powers.

"It even has a formula for summoning the Angel of Death and exchanging living souls for those of the condemned!"

"Heiro of Alexandria claimed it contained formulas for exchanging souls between the mortal realm and the underworld."

Suddenly, Buffy sat up in bed as her own words in the coffee shop a few hours ago came rushing back to her.

"Why? Giles can't even read the thing."

"Rayne can!"

Scott's response struck her like a thunderclap. Buffy jumped out of bed and walked over to her writing desk. She pulled out an envelope and piece of paper. She thought for a moment, then quickly penned a note. When she was finished, she read the letter silently to herself, folded it up and sealed it in the envelope.

She then wrote in large flowing letters on the front, "Rupert Giles." She placed the note down and leaned back from the desk.

"I'm sorry, Scott," she said quietly to herself, "You were sorta right, . . . but you see, it's me that won't be coming to school in the next couple of days. I've got a big debt to pay. But you'll be okay. Giles'll take care of you. I promise."

Buffy stared off blankly across her bedroom as if she, like Scott, were seeing a vision of an event yet to come.

Dawn was still several hours away. Giles slouched down fully asleep behind his desk. All at once, his heavy snoring changed to a series of agonizing groans. His face twitched and frowned as the librarian quickly descended into the throes of a nightmare. As he shifted in his chair, the scroll of the Luxor Necropolis Text slowly slipped out of his hand. It silently dropped to the floor and rolled away from the desk.


	6. Chapter 6

**_The Better Path part 6  
by Gaius Petronius_**

DISCLAIMER:  
Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all the characters that appear on the show are the exclusive property of Joss Whedon, Fox and Mutant Enemy, Inc. I only borrow them, mess with their heads, make them cry and once in a while, torture them.

**Chapter 7 - "Why I Hate You."**

Mornings just before first period at Sunnydale High were hard enough for Xander Harris. First there was the problem of actually waking up, floundering out of bed and getting there. Next came the mental preparation for dodging all the homework that didn't get done the previous night as well as remaining invisible from the teachers who had assigned it. This usually involved shrinking down in a desk seat during class as far as the unyielding plastic bottom would allow.

Then there were the still unresolved emotional "issues" left over from the previous night. These could send the whole day into a tailspin before it even got started. Xander knew today's would be a biggie the minute Cordelia shoved him as hard as she could against his metal locker.

He had no choice left but to adopt the time honored Xander defense. He cowered as she launched into a screaming tirade. Other students, rushing by to class, quickly glanced at the scene of reverse juvenile domestic violence. Some turned away embarrassed. Others snickered and laughed.

"You stinking two timing little horn dog!" Cordelia yelled.

"Geez, Cordy, everybody's looking!' he replied in an exaggerated whisper.

"Let em look! What the hell do you care! My reputation's ruined, and you didn't have one to ruin anyway!"

Cordelia slammed the locker door on Xander's hand. As he winced in pain, he wondered why Principal Snyder was never around for that rare instance when he could have actually helped.

"Ow!"

Heading for her locker, Willow entered the hallway and instantly spotted the Cordelia and Xander blow up in mid detonation. Petrified, she stopped and pressed herself against the wall, praying Cordelia wouldn't see her. She listened intently to the shouting.

"And the worst thing!" Cordelia ranted, "You couldn't do it with someone with a little status around here! I could see myself humiliated for maybe Penny Arlington! Or, Hell, even Buffy! But Nooo! You had to trash me in front of the whole school for that weirdo Willow!"

"Hey! Willow and I have been friends for years!"

Willow hung her head sadly.

"That's the damn problem, you twerp!' Cordelia fired back, "A seventeen year old guy and a seventeen year old girl can't be friends! It's hormonally impossible!"

Xander didn't argue. He desperately wanted to loose a well honed verbal missile that would devastate Cordelia on impact.

The smallest tear ran down Willow's face as she hugged her book bag close to her chest.

"You just tell me one thing, weasel boy! How long have you been cheating with that little red haired witch behind my back!"

"Come on, Cordy! We only kissed! It's not like we went to bed or anything." Xander knew it was the wrong thing to say the instant the first syllable left his mouth.

"Only kissed . . . ? _Only kissed!" _she snarled sarcastically, holding her fist up in front of his face, "Well you see this? This is _only_ a fist and if you dare even look in my direction ever again, kissing is about the farthest you'll ever be able to go with a girl for the rest of your life!"

Cordelia shoved Xander against his locker with a slam. She stormed up the hallway in Willow's direction. Willow saw her coming and pressed herself harder against the wall. As Cordelia passed by, she tossed Willow an icy glare. They made eye contact for a fraction of a second. Willow wilted. Cordelia paraded to her locker further up the hallway.

With a deep sigh, Willow shuffled over to her locker. As she undid the combination lock and opened the metal door, she crinkled her nose up in disgust. A fishy stench wafted out of the metal compartment. Gingerly, Willow reached in and removed a notebook wet down with an oily substance. She held it out at arm's length.

"Eeeww!"

Up the hallway, Cordelia smirked to herself, shut her locker door and marched away to class.

Willow tossed the cod liver oil soaked notebook into a hallway trash can. She started walking up the hallway past Xander. She stared straight forward, hoping he wouldn't raise his head and see her.

As she did, Xander sighed and glanced into the hallway. His eyes picked out Willow's bright red hair immediately. He ran into the center of the hallway, intercepting her.

"Hey Will! We gotta talk. We have to figure out how to put this all back together. You and Oz. Me and Cordy. How about we brainstorm second period study hall?"

"I can't, Xander!" she exclaimed looking down and avoiding Xander's gaze, "I can't see you or talk to you ever again."

"What?" Xander felt like she had just bashed him in the face with a rock.

"You heard what Cordelia said," she answered, all the while trying to maintain a 'stern Willow' face, "We can't be friends, not like we used to be. She's right. You know, a guy and a girl as friends, it doesn't work."

Xander stared at her in disbelief. It was crazy. He expected at any moment the sky would unzip unleashing a rain of toads.

"Willow, you and me go way back . . . since we were kids!" he stammered

"And that's why I can't see you! All I know is I want Oz back! He's the only thing that means anything to me now!"

Willow turned away from Xander and ran off down the hallway. Deeply hurt, Xander called after her.

"Yeah, but who's gonna bring you salamanders to make you scream?"

Willow disappeared among the crowds of students. Xander shuffled back over to his locker.

"Strike two," he muttered to himself.

A moment later, Buffy walked down the hall. Her step was purposeful, the look on her face stern and set. She quickly glanced from side to side at the students congregating in groups to gossip or wandering into class. As she passed Xander, he looked up at her, relieved finally to find what he hoped was a friendly face.

"Buffy!" he exclaimed, ready to spill his guts.

Buffy ignored Xander as she strode quickly down the hall past him. She rounded a corner in the hallway and was gone. Xander stared down at the linoleum floor.

"Geez, has this whole place gone freaking nuts?" he said to himself as he shut his locker.

As Buffy climbed the stairs to the second floor hallway, she spotted Scott seated by himself on a sofa in the lounge. He had his notebook open and was busy writing. She stopped before he could see her, sighed as if she were facing a difficult task, then walked towards him.

"Hey, Scott," she said, desperately trying to muster a morning perky voice.

Scott stared up at her. Buffy gasped in shock. There was a large new bruise on one side of his face and the hint of a black eye on the other. She quickly realized his left hand was sloppily bandaged with traces of red bleeding through the loose cloth.

"Oh my God! Are you all right?" she exclaimed sitting down beside him.

"Slayer's first rule," he grinned faintly, "Stay alive."

Buffy reached over to touch his injury. Scott winced as her fingers gently ran down the side of his face.

"Rayne did this, didn't he!"

Scott nodded.

"I should have been there! That's it! Game's over, this guy is dead meat!"

"Buffy . . ." Scott held her arm firmly, restraining her, "Don't go to him."

Buffy looked at Scott, puzzled by his reaction. She wondered whether he could sense what she was planning. They gazed at each other for a moment.

"Listen, you better put some ice on that," she said, trying to break the tension.

"Yeah, you're right. I'll go get a pack out of the locker room. Watch my stuff, will ya?"

Scott stood up and headed off down the hall. Buffy watched him leave. Her eyes then strayed to the spot where he had been sitting next to her on the sofa. There, Scott's notebook lay wide open. The page was blank with the exception of two stanzas of an incomplete poem. Buffy reached over, picked up the notebook and silently read what Scott had written.

As Buffy stared at the page, she sighed, and the stern look on her face dissolved into one of sadness. Suddenly startled, she looked up to see Scott standing over her. He held an ice pack to his face. He didn't sit at first but stared down at her as she cradled his notebook in her lap. Embarrassed, Buffy closed the notebook and laid it back on the sofa.

"I'm . . . I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be nosy."

"It's okay," he said as he sat down next to her and set the ice pack aside.

"Did you write that poem?" Buffy asked self consciously

"Yeah," he said at the same time not taking his eyes off her.

"It's about me, isn't it."

Scott just nodded.

"Could you read it to me? I'd like to hear it."

"It's not finished."

"So, . . . that's okay."

Scott opened the notebook and read. He spoke the words clearly and firmly with only the slightest hesitation between the lines.

"When I see her running,  
her spirit blazing through  
the midnight of my soul,  
As her green eyes scatter  
the darkness all 'round her,  
Beating back the despair  
I know inside is ours,  
It's then when I'm with her  
I'm no longer afraid.

She's shown me in my heart,  
newly sprung from its prison,  
that the walls 'round the Kingdom  
of Death were my making,  
and the descent to Avernus  
in my mind's eye only."

Scott closed the notebook and placed it on the cushion next to Buffy. For a moment she was silent.

"It's about last night, isn't it? Tell me what it means . . . to you?"

"Just that, whatever happens to me, being with you has opened my eyes. So it's all been worth it."

"Scott, . . . " she asked quietly, "What's Avernus?"

He paused then looked down as he answered.

". . . an ancient gateway to the Demon Dimension. It's a Hellmouth . . ."

"You've seen it . . ?" she asked. Again he nodded.

Neither spoke for a moment. Scott then stared directly in her eyes. For the first time Buffy sensed their piercing blue, a power that seemed to reach in to the secrets of her soul..

"Buffy . . . listen to me," he said as he firmly grasped her hand. "Don't take the manuscript to Ethan Rayne."

"What?" The shock was like a slap across her face. She felt her stomach jump like it did when Cordelia drove her convertible fast over a little rise in the road.

"Please . . . it's my fate to go back . . . not yours . . . you know that."

Buffy collected her thoughts. When she finally answered it was with a quiet strength but nevertheless with fear in her voice.

"What I have to do, I'm going to do," she said, returning Scott's grip. "I have to confront Ethan. And you have to trust me. Only this one last secret between us, okay? I'm going to talk to Giles first. But I want you to ditch outta here for the day, disappear for your own safety. Then meet me tonight at the coffee shop at ten o'clock. Not a minute earlier. You got it?"

"Got it," Scott replied. He understood. She was like him in that some things had to be done alone.

"Where's Rayne hiding?"

"In the storage rooms behind the old closed up Stevens Market on Broad Street. What's the plan?"

"I can't tell you," she said squeezing his hand again, "But I promise that after tonight you'll be free, and Ethan Rayne willl never bother you again."

"Friend's promise?" he asked.

"Yeah, . . . special friend's promise," she replied.

Trusting her implicitly, Scott stood up to leave. Down at the corner of the hallway, Faith walked into view. Immediately she spotted Buffy and Scott together.

"Okay, I'll see you tonight then," he said.

Scott turned to walk away. A look of regret crossed Buffy's face. She hadn't meant to lie to him. After last night she didn't know what she wanted. She hadn't felt like that in months. Now all she knew was he was leaving and she might not ever see him again.

Impulsively, she jumped up off the lounge sofa and grabbed Scott by the arm. Buffy turned him to face her and, as she did the night before, kissed him. As their lips met, she suddenly felt herself letting go, her emotions welling out unrestrained. Through the strong grip of his hands, she felt him doing the same.

Both wrapped their arms around each other with their bodies pressed tightly together. Oblivious to the snickers and grins of passing students, Scott and Buffy, for the briefest span of time, stood together as one on what seemed like the edge of the Demon Dimension. It was as if they were back in the coffee shop, each passing their strength to the other so they wouldn't fall, or if one did, the other would willingly go too.

After a few moments, Buffy tipped her head back from Scott. Scott, with one arm still wrapped around her, rubbed his bandaged hand against his sore jaw.

"Ow . . . that hurt . . . " he said quietly but smiling, "It was wonderful, but it hurt."

Buffy's eyes watered up. At the same time, in spite of herself, she grinned at Scott's remark. Trying not to break out crying and laughing at the same time, Buffy quickly pulled herself out of Scott's embrace and ran away from him down the hallway to the Library.

"Good-bye, Scott," she called out over her shoulder.

He didn't reply but rather stood alone by the sofa for a moment. He envisioned two paths suddenly dividing in front of him. Undecided whether to follow after her or obey her instructions and skip out of school, Scott reached into his shirt and wrapped his hand around the scarab stone hanging from the leather thong.

". . . please . . . which way? . . ." he whispered.

He sensed nothing from the stone, and let it fall back against his chest.

". . . then I'll have to trust you, Buffy . . ."

Scott grabbed his notebook off the sofa, turned and walked quickly off down a different hallway that lead to the parking lot exit. Faith frowned and shook her head.

"Something's wrong here," she said under her breath, "Something's bad wrong."

Although sunlight was pouring in through the upper windows, the library was blanketed in shadows. None of the overhead florescent lights had been turned on. The sole source of illumination was the desk lamp in Giles' office which had been on all night. In his office behind the desk, Giles was still asleep in a chair. He was more unkempt than usual and sported a heavy morning stubble.

The door to the library swung quietly open, and Buffy entered hesitantly, almost tip toeing into the room.

"Giles?" she called out softly, "Are you here?"

The reply was silence. She spotted the light spilling out of his office and approached the partially open door. She took a deep breath and walked in.

"Giles?"

Her Watcher didn't stir. As Buffy approached his desk, she saw the Necropolis Text lying on the floor. She bent down, retrieved the parchment and quietly unrolled it. She stared at the curled manuscript for only a moment, then rolled it back up and slid it under her arm.

As she studied Giles sleeping peacefully, Buffy struggled to hold her emotions in check.

"I guess it's best we do this quick," she said very softly, 'Long good byes really suck."

Buffy reached into her pocket and pulled out the sealed envelope with the letter she wrote the previous night. She placed it on his desk amidst his chaotic piles of papers. As she turned to leave, she stopped and stepped back close to Giles' chair.

She had planned it all out in her head last night, the confrontation with Giles, the arguing, her snatching the Luxor Necropolis Text. Instead, he was making it so easy for her as if confirming the necessity of her actions.

Raising her fingers to her lips, she kissed them and ever so gently so as not to wake her sleeping Watcher, touched the same fingers to his stubbly cheek just to the side of his gold rimmed glasses.

"Good-bye, Giles . . . I'm so sorry . . . please forgive me."

Giles snorted and rumbled a little with his dreams. Before her sobbing could wake him, Buffy turned and ran out of his office towards the library door.

Faith lurked in the hallway outside the library, Suspicious, she had followed Buffy from the lounge. She had stopped outside the library and was about to peer in the darkened windows when the doors flew open, and Buffy burst out running directly into Faith's arms. Her eyes were red and trails of moisture stained her cheeks.

"'B!' What the hell is wrong with you?" Faith exclaimed, caught by surprise.

Buffy didn't answer. She only glowered at Faith for a moment, stepped back from her fellow Slayer and raced down the hallway, disappearing around a corner leading to the front door. Astonished, Faith didn't follow but watched her go. Worried that something had happened, she held open one of the library doors. Across the darkened room she could see Giles visible in his office and sound asleep behind his desk.

"What gives here?" she said to herself, shaking her head. The class period bell rang. For a moment, she didn't move. She realized that everyone else was now in first period and there was no audience. Faith sauntered slowly towards her history class. Her pace ensured she would be at least five minutes late and make a grand entrance.

The gymnasium shook with the rhythm of the first period boys' gym class doing warm-ups. About forty students, including Xander and Oz, performed a mind numbing series of jumping jacks. At the shriek of a whistle, the class all broke off into running laps around the gym. Every now and then, either Xander or Oz would speed up and pass the other or slow down and fall behind. Each gave the other a glare as they ran by.

Across the school in first period chemistry class, Willow, in lab apron and safety goggles, stood at her lab table. In front of her sat a beaker filled with clear liquid heating over a Bunsen burner. She gazed sadly at her experiment, watching the liquid in the beaker slowly but inexorably come to a boil.

Two doors down, Cordelia slouched in the middle of her senior English class. Open on the desk in front of her lay a brand new and clearly unused copy of Dickens' "Great Expectations." She slowly turned the pages with the eraser head of her pencil, her mind wandering and paying no attention to the teacher lecturing in the front of the class.

Through it all, Giles remained asleep behind his desk. The rest of the library was still cloaked in darkness. Only his desk lamp shed any light in the room.

Miles away, Buffy walked alone down an untraveled two lane road. Far up ahead, rising out of the trees like a silent leering demon, loomed the second floor tower of the old Dearborne mansion. She wouldn't look up at it but only stared straight ahead as she turned onto the long path leading up to the building's front door.

As the second period bell rang, Willow poked her head through the library door.

"Giles?"

She reached up to the wall switch by the door and switched on the overhead florescent lights. The sudden glare of light was jarring and Willow squinted for a moment. She then spotted Giles asleep in his office. Shaking her head with amusement, she paraded into his office.

"Hey! Sleeping man!" she said poking him, "Wake up!"

Giles jumped in his chair.

"Oh! . . . my goodness . . . Willow? . . . oh dear, what time is it?"

"Time you got cleaned up! Lucky Snyder didn't catch you again or you'd be fired . . . and canned, too. And then what would we all do?"

Giles sat up and tried to collect himself.

"I must have dozed off working last night."

"You got anything else for me to translate?"

"Uhh, I don't know," Giles answered confused as he surveyed the mess on his desk, "Give me a few minutes if you would."

"Okay, I'll be out in the stacks."

Willow walked out of Giles' office and sat down at one of the library tables. Books were piled up on the table top so she casually began thumbing through the ones nearest her. But after a moment she stopped, stared ahead silently and finally sighed.

In the meantime, Giles floundered through the papers on his desk. He dug amidst the documents from the Furtwangler estate and realized the Necropolis Text was no longer among them. He searched around his chair and on the floor under his desk. As he stood back up he rubbed his chin as if he were trying to wipe the puzzled look off his face.

"Where could that thing have gone?" he muttered.

Suddenly he spied Buffy's envelope in the middle of the chaos on his desk. He immediately recognized it as something totally out of place. Frowning, Giles reached down and picked up the envelope. He studied it for a moment, pulled a letter opener out of his desk drawer and slit the envelope open. Drawing the letter out, Giles read, all the while a look of panic building on his face.

"Dear Giles,  
I know I don't write too good so I'm making this short and sweet. I've taken that manuscript you got at the auction, and I'm going to use it to bring back Angel. I'll have to exchange my soul for his. I know you wouldn't do it, so I'm taking it to Ethan Rayne. He knows how to use it. Please don't freak."

Giles began to tremble.

"I know you've always stood by me and protected me. I couldn't have asked for a better Watcher. You've been sort of like a Dad and a Guardian Angel all at the same time. Please don't think I'm doing what I have to do because of anything you did or didn't do. None of this is your fault. I love you and always will."

"But sometimes there are things that are even more important than 'sacred duties' and all that stuff, things like love and friendship and making things right that are wrong because of what I did."

"I do need you to do some stuff for me, though. Mr. Pointie's in my locker. Could you give him to Faith. Oh, also my gold cross, I left it there, too. That's for Willow. Tell my Mom and everybody I flipped out and ran away again."

"And this is real important. There's a guy I've been hanging out with. His name is Scott Hope. He's a real good friend and knows all about the slaying thing. He'll be at this coffee shop downtown on Main Street tonight at 10:00 o'clock. Go there. You can't miss him. He's got brown hair and these real intense blue eyes. He's the only one I want you to tell what's happened. He'll take you to Ethan Rayne so you can get back that Necriplis thing (sorry I can't spell it) I'm using for the soul exchange. Burn it. It's real bad news. Ethan wants to use it to open the demon dimension. And while you're there, beat the shit out of Rayne for me, too, okay? You know how to handle him."

"And this is the most important thing. Could you keep watch over Scott for me. Rayne's out to get him. Scott's real different, not like he seems. He sees things like Willow does but even more than her, and I think he was actually imprisoned in the demon dimension by Ethan. I'm sure he can still see into it as well. Who knows, maybe I could have visiting hours (ha ha.)"

"He doesn't have anybody and needs someone to watch out for him real bad. I think Faith likes him, so maybe you could do a little match making there. I really want him to be happy cause I don't think he ever has been. Wow, I said this was going to be short. I guess I better end it here or I'll cry and start thinking again. And then I wouldn't be able to do what I have to do."

"Giles, you're the most important person in the world to me. I know you would do the same thing I am, if it were me or Ms. Calendar you could save. And if it were you instead of Angel, I would do the same thing for you, only a thousand times."

"Love,  
Buffy"

Giles put Buffy's letter down. He was still shaking and his face was drained of all its color. He slowly took his glasses off and dropped them on the desk in front of him.

"Oh . . . dear . . . God! . . . Buffy . . . no . . ." he whispered in agony.

Looking for the black notebook he took out of the locked cabinet during the night, Giles rummaged wildly among the documents and books on his desk. Not finding it, he realized he must have put it away again before he fell asleep. Giles reached the cabinet and fumbled with his keys. Quickly finding the one he wanted, he unlocked the cabinet.

As he looked inside, his eyes suddenly fell on the dusty Scotch bottle. He hesitated for a moment, then pushed the bottle aside as he reached for the notebook. He slapped the cabinet door shut, locked it and ran out into the library.

"Willow! Where's Buffy?"

Willow jumped at the sound of the Librarian's panicked voice.

"I don't know. I haven't seen her this morning."

"It is imperative that we find her now! Giles ordered, "Get Faith and Xander and everybody together and search every place you can think of where she might be hiding!

"Giles, . . . there's a problem," she replied as she shrank down in her chair like Xander.

"What!" he shouted, "Particularly!"

"Well, last night . . ." she tried to explain, "There was this big blowup. Oz isn't talking to me anymore. And I'm not talking to Xander. Oz and Xander hate each other and nobody wants to talk to Cordelia cause she's angry and Faith . . ."

"Well you're all going to have to stuff your petty little problems in your lockers!" Giles cut her off, loading as much English sarcasm in the statement as he could muster, "Buffy is in serious trouble!"

He held Buffy's letter up and shook it at Willow as if it were a new declaration of war between the Empire and the Colonies.

"I am holding here the equivalent of a suicide note from her! She must be found now!"

Willow's eyes widened.

"She's taken the Luxor Necropolis Text and is going to use it to trade her soul for the return of Angel!"

"Can she do that?"

"I don't know," Giles said, "But she's going to Ethan Rayne with it! And she mentions in her letter someone named Scott. Who is this person?"

"Just a guy she's been seeing," Willow hesitated, not wanting to reveal too much of Buffy's private life.

"We must find him!" Giles demanded, "He could hold the key to all of this! I don't think she can use the spells until after the moon rises so we only have until early this evening."

"Got it!" Willow jumped up from the desk and ran out of the library.

"And if you do find Buffy, don't let her out of your sight!" Giles shouted after her as the library door slapped shut.

Breathing heavily, Giles stood still for a moment. He then returned to his office, grabbed his glasses and, with the black notebook in hand, followed Willow.

As she approached the library door, Faith caught a glimpse of Willow running off around the corner at the end of the hallway.

"What the hell is going on around here?" she said.

Suddenly Giles barged out of the library and stumbled directly into her.

"Slow down Big Guy!" she said as she put her hands against his tweed jacket to hold him back, "Why's everybody bailing out of the library? Snyder open the Hellmouth or something?"

"Faith! Where's Buffy? Have you seen her?"

"Yeah, earlier this morning. With Scott."

"Scott you say? She was with that Scott person?"

"Yeah. What's up?"

"We have to find her immediately!" Giles didn't care that he was shouting, "She's going to try to exchange her soul to bring back Angel!"

"What! Aw man, I thought she had that Bloody Buddy thing under control! Damn! . . . Course that would explain a lot." Faith smirked remembering the sight of Buffy and Scott in each other's arms in what was clearly a "get a room" moment.

"Explain what?" Giles shouted again.

"I caught her kissing Scott this morning like they missed the last lifeboat on the Titanic, but only she knew the ship was sinking. Then she blew outta here crying her eyes out. I figured you took away her cross bow privileges."

"I want you to search the cemetery and all of her patrol routes! I'm fairly certain she won't be able to do anything until moon rise after dark when most restoration and soul manifestation spells become effective. What happened to Scott?"

"He split too, but not with her," Faith said, "I have no idea where he hangs out. You got somebody on the old mansion?"

"Willow will send Xander and Oz out there."

Faith laughed.

"What's so funny!" Giles growled, his exasperation with American teenage social relationships reaching its limit.

"Oh, . . . nothing, . . . nothing," Faith smiled at the thought.

"Well! Don't just stand there staring at me like a cabbage! Start searching!"

"All right! I'm on it! I'm on it!" Faith snapped back, holding up her hands as if to say "Back off, Old English Dude!"

She ran off down the hallway. Giles watched her disappear around the corner. He then stood puzzled for a moment, stared up at the ceiling with eyes closed and whispered to any friendly spirits or forces who happened to be in hearing distance.

"Please . . . something . . . someone . . . show me the way to her . . ."

Third period study hall was always a lost cause. It was too late in the morning to use to finish up the previous night's homework. At the same time, it was too early to start thinking about homework that was due the next day. Willow had taken to calling it "Limbo."

Oz and Xander and roughly thirty students sat at desks in this morning's third period Limbo. Oz chose a spot far to one side of the room. Being late, Xander ended up at an empty desk right by the door. Every once in a while he cast a glance over his shoulder at Oz. Each time, Oz was glaring back at him. Suddenly Willow burst in and stopped in front of Xander's desk. The whole room stared up.

"Xander! I need your help! Both you and Oz!" she said urgently, at the same time trying to keep her voice down.

"Oh, hello. Do I know you?" Xander snipped back as if she were a total stranger, "You must be new here. You remind me of someone I used to know, but she won't talk to me anymore."

"Xander!" Willow stamped her foot.

Xander glanced back at the rest of the study hall and smirked.

"Maybe you've met her. She's got red hair."

That was it. Willow lost her temper, reached out and grabbed Xander by the ear, pulling him up out of his desk.

"Ow! Ow! Ow! Will, no, stop it!" he squalled.

As she dragged Xander towards the door, she looked back at Oz, pointed at him and thumbed at the door.

"And You! The Hallway! Now!"

Oz sheepishly jumped up and followed her and Xander.

"Ow! Ow! Ow!" Xander yelped as she pulled him into the hallway with Oz right behind.

When she finally had both under control, Willow let go of Xander's ear.

"Hey! What'd you do that for? That hurt!" he whined, rubbing the side of his head.

"Shut up! Buffy's in big trouble! Giles says we gotta find her now!"

"What happened?" Oz asked.

"She got a hold of an Egyptian manuscript Giles bought. She's gonna use one of its spells to trade her soul for Angel's tonight."

"Angel! She's gonna kill herself _for Angel?_" Xander exclaimed, the ear pulling of moments before completely forgotten, "Ohh Shit!"

Willow began barking orders like a pint sized drill sergeant.

"Oz, you gotta cruise the downtown looking for her! I know it's a long shot but we gotta check everything."

Oz didn't answer. He stared down at the floor and hesitated.

"Hey!" she snapped at him, "You got a problem with this? Cause if you do, spit it out right now!"

Oz reflected for a moment then looked up at Willow and smiled slightly.

"No, it's cool. Last night's on hold. Big stuff has a funny way of doing that."

"Yeah, it does," she smiled back at him, "Thanks."

"Hey, I'm outta here," he said over his shoulder as he ran off towards the front hall entrance way and out to the parking lot.

Willow turned to face her main problem, Xander. She took a deep breath and issued his marching orders.

"You gotta go out to the old mansion to see if Buffy's hiding there. . . . and you also have to talk to Cordelia. She's gotta check out the mall. I'm going to Buffy's house and a bunch of other places."

Willow could see the panic spread across Xander's face.

"You want me to _talk_ to the She Demon from the Planet Zorkon?"

"Just put your phaser on stun. I have faith in you. It's for Buffy," she said as down the hallway to the front door leaving Xander alone.

"Yeah, I know," he muttered, heaving a big sigh.

Xander held his finger up in front of him in the shape of a pistol. He took aim down the empty hallway at imaginary aliens all sporting the head cheerleader's long brown hair.

"Zap! Zap! Zap! Zap!"

Suddenly, the real Cordelia heading for the gym appeared right behind him.

"What are you doing, you moron?"

"Holy Geez! It's you!" Xander leaped with surprise_._

"You were expecting someone else? A Borg or Willow perhaps?"

"Not now, Cordy! You gotta drive me out to the old mansion. Buffy's in trouble. We have to find her!"

"Buffy's always in trouble," Cordelia snapped, folding her arms across her chest, "Anyway why should I care? I'm not a weirdo anymore."

"Besides the fact that Giles thinks Buffy'll probably be dead by tonight if we don't find her, you _are_ still a weirdo whether you're going out with me or not. I mean, once you've done the Hellmouth Swing Dance, it's pretty hard to boogie to anything else."

Cordelia huffed but Xander grabbed her by the arm before she could storm away.

"Cordy," he pleaded, "Last night we both promised to pretend the last two weeks never happened. I'm willing to keep that promise if you are . . . just for a few hours . . . not for me but for Buffy."

"Oh, all right!" she huffed, "But it's only pretend! And just until we find her!"

Xander glanced up and down the hallway.

"Let's get outta here before Snyder catches us! We can cruise the mall first. What's her favorite thing?"

"Shoes! Definitely shoes!" Cordelia nodded confidently.

"We got a plan! Shoe stores! Let's go girl!"

Both ran down the hallway together towards the front door.

Within the space of minutes, Oz's van pulled out of a parking place and lumbered toward the lot exit. At the same time Giles burst out the front door, followed by Willow. They both headed for his beat up Citroen and climbed in. As Giles turned the key in the ignition, the engine clattered and a puff of blue smoke popped out of the exhaust pipe. Giles quickly maneuvered the car out of the parking space and raced out the exit into the street.

A few moments later, Cordelia and Xander dashed down the school front steps and over to her red convertible.

"Hey, hot babe Weirdo!" he called out as they climbed in.

"What!"

"Welcome back to the fight!" he said sincerely, realizing she probably wouldn't get the Casablanca reference.

Cordelia threw the car into first gear and punched the gas pedal. She burned rubber as they pealed out of the school parking lot.

"Cool!" Xander exclaimed as his body slammed back into the front bucket seat from the sudden acceleration.

Buffy slipped into the old Dearborn mansion and stood before the fireplace. The red rose she left the night before still lay in the center of the floor. It was now wilted with several petals dropped off onto the stone tiles.

"I guess, this is as good a place to wait as any," she said as if Angel were with her in the room.

Slowly she sat down on the hearthstone.

Hours passed as the Scoobies raced all over Sunnydale.

Giles fidgeted in his car as it idled at the curb. Willow, wearing every drop of innocence she could muster, talked to Joyce Summers at the front door of Buffy's home. Giles could see Joyce shake her head and go back inside, closing the door. He gripped the steering wheel hard, knowing the answer as Willow returned to the car.

"No luck," she said as she climbed in the passenger's side, "She hasn't seen her since she left for school this morning."

"Blast!"

Giles angrily pulled the Citroen out into the street, cutting off another vehicle. A horn blared while the Sunnydale librarian flipped an English two fingered salute out the open window.

Late afternoon shadows were now beginning to spread across the concrete sidewalks in downtown Sunnydale. As Oz cruised through searching for Buffy, he craned his neck over the steering wheel. Every few minutes he poked his head out the window to scan the buildings and sidewalks at each intersection. Using his heightened werewolf senses, he sniffed the exhaust laden air.

Nothing. Oz casually glanced at the van's gas gauge which was flirting with empty.

Late afternoon quickly blended into dusk. Cordelia's convertible flew up a back road and turned into the driveway leading to the Dearborn mansion. The convertible's back seat was almost completely filled with shopping bags. Xander glanced over his shoulder at Cordelia Chase's one woman crusade to buoy the retail industry of Sunnydale.

"It's almost night!" he complained, "We were just supposed to look for Buffy at the mall, not buy the whole place!

Inside, the Slayer sat on the hearth in front of the fireplace. She heard Cordelia's car pull up in front of the mansion. Buffy stood up and quietly slipped behind one of the columns. From her hiding place she saw Xander poke his head in through the main door.

"Yoo hoo? Room Service! Anybody here?"

Cordelia shoved him past the doorway.

"Go on, you wus!"

Cordelia and Xander hesitantly walked into the central hall. Both stopped by the fireplace hearth in the fading daylight and stared around at the stone walls and vaulted ceiling.

"Hey! Buffy! You here?" Cordelia suddenly yelled out, making Xander jump.

"Geez, Cordy! Shut up!" he said trying to hush her.

"How we supposed to know if she's here or not?" she replied, giving him her best "duh!" look.

"She's hiding!" he answered, his voice laden with sarcasm.

Cordelia stared nervously around at the shadows, now rapidly spreading across structures in the hall.

"So this is where it happened," she finally said, "Her killing Angel."

"Yeah, I didn't actually see it but . . ."

"Well, no one's here now," she interrupted, casting a worried glance towards the door.

Xander spied the wilted red rose lying in the middle of the floor.

"But someone was," he said quietly, at the same time bending down to pick up the flower. Several more dying petals fell off and dropped back to the floor.

"From the looks of this, I don't think she's been here for a while."

Xander stared at the rose for a long time. Finally Cordelia, who was becoming more afraid with the approach of dark, called out to him.

"Xander . . . let's get outta here."

"I don't get it," he said out loud but not to Cordelia, "You've been dead for two hundred years, and still all you can do is hurt people."

Buffy, hiding behind the column, listened sadly as Xander's words echoed off the stones in the central hall, then returned to strike her like a stake through the heart.

"It doesn't matter who you are, good Angel, bad Angel," he said to the rose, "You damn near destroyed Giles . . . and now you have destroyed Buffy."

Xander briefly looked up at Cordelia.

"She walked by me in the hall this morning. Wouldn't look at me, like she didn't even know who I was."

"What's so unusual about that?" she snapped back, "I'm doing the same thing, you pig!"

"No, you're not. You scream at me. You insult me. You punch me out . . . but you _see _me. She didn't. I don't think she can see anyone anymore."

Xander looked back at the rose and spoke as if he were talking to Angel.

"You may be finally dead and in Hell where you belong, . . . but you bastard, you still won't let her go. You got her mind so twisted around . . . 'cause of you, she'll never live her life the way it was meant to be. She'll never have fun, laugh, fly around in her own car . . . get drunk and throw up, meet new people. And you're never going to let her heal and learn to love somebody again, are you. . . . You don't love Buffy. You wouldn't do what you're doing if you did."

There was a long pause. Finally Xander dropped the rose to the floor.

"That's why I hate you," he said quietly with deep anger. He walked back to join Cordelia.

"Let's get outta here. The Buffy I know isn't here."

Xander and Cordelia left. Alone in the darkness, Buffy leaned against the column, the pain of what Xander had said etched into her face.

The windows looking outside from the library were all dark with the fallen night. Giles sat behind his desk. Faith and Willow stood waiting patiently in front of him. The Watcher didn't move but slouched forward in his chair, his elbows resting on the desktop and his head in his hands. Finally Willow had to break the uncomfortable silence.

"Giles?"

Giles glanced up at them. His face was red, his eyes bloodshot.

"What are we gonna do?"

"I'm afraid there's nothing left to do. I'll keep searching the manuscripts here for some clue how to stop this thing. Then I guess I'll meet with Scott at the coffee shop. You both might as well do what you always do."

"Hey, I'll go on her patrol," Faith said trying to be optimistic, "Maybe she'll turn up there."

"Yeah, I'll stop by the Bronze," Willow agreed, just glad for any reason to get out and do something, "Who knows."

Faith and Willow stared at Giles, expecting him to come up with some solution or new plan of action. Giles just stared back at them, a blank expression on his face.

"Good," he said faintly.

"You'll let us know what happens?" Willow prodded for a response.

"Yes."

The tone of his voice sounded like that of someone already condemned. Faith and Willow waited for something more, but Giles was silent. Finally, without speaking, they both turned and left the library. Giles began fussing with the Furtwangler manuscripts on his desk once more.

"There must be something here," he muttered to himself, "The old man wouldn't have kept all these together if they didn't have some special purpose."

At the old mansion, Buffy sat in the dark on the hearth. She gazed at her watch, sighed and rose to her feet.

"It's time, Ethan," she said softly but with resolve. Without any further hesitation, she left the deserted building by the main entrance.


	7. Chapter 7

**_The Better Path, part 7  
by Gaius Petronius_**

DISCLAIMER:  
Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all the characters that appear on the show are the exclusive property of Joss Whedon, Fox and Mutant Enemy, Inc. I only borrow them, toy with them, make them cry and once in a while, torture them.

**Chapter 8 - "Sshh, Buffy . . . sshh . . ."**

The coffee shop was bustling with early evening activity. At the same table where he and Buffy spent hours talking, tonight Scott waited alone. His coffee was untouched. He kept glancing at his watch. Even though he was hours early, every few moments he nervously surveyed the patrons around him, searching for Buffy and eying the door apprehensively for any vampires Ethan may have sent after him.

Scott fidgeted with his small spiral notebook. He pulled a short, well used pencil out of his jacket pocket and scribbled on a page. With his other hand, he clutched the scarab around his neck and gently rubbed it between his fingers. Suddenly he dropped his pencil and looked up in front of him, staring past the other tables at something that only he could see. He seized the scarab with both hands and whispered a protective prayer to the little blue stone.

The vision swept in suddenly, overwhelming the ordinary reality around him. He found himself in a pitch dark chamber. No features were visible anywhere and there was no source of light. Buffy stood in front of him less than ten feet away, her back turned.

Her frozen image appeared colorless, her blond hair and bright clothing only visible in shades of gray. Then Scott sensed in front of her the shape of a figure that was darker than the blackness surrounding them. As it drew closer, he felt a surge of all encompassing evil that settled on his chest like a great stone weight. A white crooked hand slowly emerged floating in the air in front of the form as if it had slid out from under the folds of an inky black cassock. It reached out towards Buffy who remained still.

Scott struggled towards her but his limbs barely moved as if he were fighting the power emanating from the darkness. Concentrating his energy, he pushed through the force holding him back and reached Buffy's side. She didn't turn to him or recognize him.

Scott slipped off the scarab on the leather thong from around his neck and swiftly placed it over Buffy's head so that the little stone came to rest against her white blouse. The carving faced forward towards the dark entity. In this world of grays and blacks, only the scarab now stood out in its true color, the soft blue glowing like a tiny beacon.

The figure suddenly drew back from the light, and, as if instantly freed, Buffy turned to look at Scott. Her face was a mixture of shock and sorrow. Still moving in a dream state of slow motion, she shook her head as if trying to deny what was happening. Her voice drifted into Scott's mind as if it were echoing from down a long empty corridor.

" . . no . . ." she said very quietly.

Scott didn't reply. He only nodded his head and smiled at her. He then turned to confront the being before them and walked forward towards the menacing darkness and the outstretched hand beckoning him.

Scott suddenly shook his head as if he had been dropped back into reality. He quickly looked around. His breathing was rapid, but not in a reaction of fear or panic but only one of exertion. His eyes wide, he stared back down at the table in front of him and tried to compose his thoughts.

Dropping the scarab, he grabbed the spiral notebook and began writing rapidly as if he were running a desperate race against time. After a few moments, he held up the finished product, silently reading what he had written. Dissatisfied, he quickly scratched out a line here, a word there, then wrote again. Reading once more, he was now content. He tore the page out of the notebook, stuffed it into his inside jacket pocket, and jumped up from the table. He ran out of the coffee shop, leaving his spiral notebook behind.

A few moments later, Scott scurried back in, fished in his pocket for money and dropped several dollar bills and some coins on the table. He turned and ran back out, still leaving his notebook behind. Several of the coffee shop patrons eyed his actions with mild curiosity.

Seated in the recliner in his storage room hideout, Ethan Rayne was reading. Every now and then he perked his head up from his book on medieval torture and listened as if he were awaiting someone's arrival. Finally, the back door to the room swung open and Buffy stood in silhouette against the light from the outside street lamps. She held a rolled up scroll in one hand. Ethan sat forward and placed his book down.

"Oh . . . hello," he said with exaggerated politeness, "Do come in and close the door. You're letting all the fresh air in."

Buffy entered the room and shut the door, but she would not approach him.

"I'm so glad you stopped by. And I see you have the Necropolis Text. Good, we can begin right away."

"How do you know what I want?" Buffy asked, her voice icy, "Who told you I was coming?"

"Your little friend there, Rarak . . . or Scott or whatever name he goes by these days . . . not in so many words of course, but I managed to wring it out of him."

"Scott? . . ." Buffy asked trying to hide her surprise.

"Oh, you didn't know?" Ethan continued, his attitude pushing Buffy's buttons, "He does work for me, you realize."

Buffy glowered at Ethan, and he immediately picked up on the sense of betrayal in her look.

"Now, now, don't be too hard on the little fellow. He's fought me every step of the way on this. Seems he's taken quite a fancy to you."

Buffy's anger welled up inside her.

"Still, I have ways to make him see reason, of course . . . " Ethan rattled on, relishing the discomfort he was inflicting on the Slayer, "But after tonight, well, . . . pity. And he's been fairly useful up to now."

Buffy marched over to Ethan Rayne, reached down, and grabbed him by the collar. Roughly she dragged him up out of the recliner.

"You leave Scott alone, you weasel! You got it!" she snarled into his face.

"Easy! . . . tsk, tsk, tsk . . . my, do I detect some reciprocal feelings here?"

Buffy shoved Ethan back down into the recliner.

"We're getting violent so quickly, tonight. Usually it takes at least, hmm . . . two . . . or three minutes before you start punching people out. You're not showing very much restraint or courtesy."

Ethan waved his hands at the darkness all around him.

"After all this is _my_ home . . . and you came to _me_ for help!"

"But you're forgetting something!" Buffy snapped back as she held up the scroll in her hand and shook it at Ethan, "I hold the winning cards!"

"So you do. You always were a crafty little bitch," he nodded flippantly back at her, "It's agreed, then. I'll leave Scott alone. Now can we get started?"

"How do I know you'll live up to your end of the bargain . . . that you won't hurt him?"

"You stupid little twit, . . . you don't!"

Buffy stared at Ethan in horror as he leered back at her.

"You'll just have to _trust me!"_

Scott raced down the sidewalk towards Sunnydale High. He stopped to catch his breath, looked up at the library windows and saw a lone light. He turned to the front steps and leaped up them three at a time. At the top of the stairs, he yanked the door open and ran inside.

Scott dashed wildly down the hallway to the library and burst through the doors.

Giles sat in his office frantically searching through his books and the remaining texts from the Furtwangler estate. The doors to the library slammed open with a loud bang. Giles looked up to see Scott standing at the entrance to the office.

"You're Scott! What are you doing here? Where's Buffy?"

"Mr. Giles! We have to stop her! She's going through with it right now! The soul exchange!"

"Damn it!" the Librarian cursed, "I presume she has the Luxor text!"

"We have to go now!" Scott nodded, panting, "I . . . I saw her . . . the Entity from . . . It was summoned . . . It's going to take her!"

Giles grabbed Scott by the collar.

"Did you give her that manuscript!" Giles shouted, his anger finally overtaking his reason.

"No!" Scott shoved Giles' grip aside with a strength that caught the Watcher by surprise, "She took it when I wasn't around. I tried to talk her out of it, but she went to Rayne anyway. He's the one helping her!"

"Oh, Buffy!" Giles said with a despair that contained all his own pent up feelings of failure.

"Mr. Giles, it's . . . it's the . . . " Scott whispered, "The Angel of Death coming for her! To take her to the Demon Dimension . . . to imprison her in Hell! But, we can still save her! I saw it in my mind, we can still save her!"

Giles studied Scott intensely.

"You really can _see _these things, can't you? You know where she is!"

Scott nodded again.

"Good! Take me there!"

Together Giles and Scott sprinted out of the library, down the darkened hallways, and out to the parking lot.

In the storeroom, Ethan Rayne rose up from the recliner and held his hand out to Buffy.

"Come on, give me the manuscript!"

Buffy wouldn't move, but only glared at Ethan.

"I can't help you bring your Angelus back if you don't give me the manuscript."

Slowly Buffy passed the rolled up parchment to Ethan who snatched it out of her hand.

"That's better," he smiled, his voice dripping sarcasm, "See how much we can get done if we just _trust each other!"_

As Ethan studied the writing on the paper he chuckled quietly.

"What's so funny?" Buffy asked nervously, "You can do it, can't you?"

"Of course! It's actually very simple."

"Then how come Giles couldn't figure it out?"

"Because Ripper is an idiot!" Rayne replied, his words cutting like a razor, "But what would you expect, having to associate with . . . you people! . . . twenty-four hours a day! . . . no offense, of course."

"That's okay, offense taken!" Buffy said, seething at the insults.

Ethan smiled back.

"Good! We understand each other . . ."

Ethan pointed to a line in the manuscript.

"Here, it's clearly spelled out. 'In all things, the end is the beginning and the beginning is the end.'"

Buffy, not understanding what she had just heard, stared blankly at Ethan.

"You just read it backwards, you little nit! 'The end is the beginning!' I can see why you and that Rarak get along!"

"SHUT UP! . . . just do it!"

"As you wish," Ethan Rayne announced as he began reciting the spell from the text.

"Angelus Mortis, Audite Me!"

The words echoed in the storage room as if they were reverberating in one of the great stone chambers leading to the lower levels of Hell.

Giles' beat up Citroen flew down the empty street. Tires screeched on the pavement as the lumbering French sedan took a corner at high speed. Giles never imagined the old engine had so much power left.

Ethan read in a commanding voice while Buffy stood still in front of him.

" . . .Nunc ex oris infernis, Te elicio, Angelus Mortis! . . ."

Giles' Citroen roared through night time Sunnydale under the few street lamps that weren't burned out. He took another sharp turn at an intersection, running a red light.

The Watcher firmly gripped the steering wheel. He could feel every bump and pot hole in the pavement transferred through the worn out suspension and up the steering column into his hands.

Next to him, Scott held on to the dashboard. Neither wore seat belts. Giles yanked the steering wheel hard, turning the car to the left. Scott lost his grip and slammed into the passenger side door as they ran another red light at the corner and cut off two cars in the oncoming lane. There was a screeching of brakes and tires on the pavement as the other cars skidded to a stop, their horns blaring.

Scott winced and closed his eyes anticipating the crushing impact of metal on metal. It never came, only the continuous roar of the engine and the feeling of weightlessness as the car lofted over bumps in the road.

." . . Per Omnis Aeternitatis!"

Ethan completed reading the spell. He rolled up the manuscript and tossed it into the recliner.

"There . . . all done," he announced with a grin.

Buffy glanced around her but saw nothing happening.

"So? . . . That's it?" she asked, "What the hell's wrong?"

"Nothing . . . patience! . . . ah, here He comes now!"

Buffy stared out into the darkness of the room. At a point near the back wall, the black suddenly deepened into the shape of a tall cloaked figure. The shape glided forward and, from out of what appeared to be the folds of its robe, an emaciated white hand extended towards Buffy. Repressing her fear, Buffy held her ground. The Angel of Death spoke with a deep voice that was hollow and disembodied.

". . . Buffy Summers . . ." It commanded.

Frozen to the spot, Buffy only nodded in acknowledgment.

". . . ask what you desire . . ." The sound of the words felt like fingers probing her mind, extracting the responses she was only just putting into thoughts.

"An exchange of souls," she answered firmly, "For the return of Angel, . . . I offer mine in his place.'

Up to this point the face of the Angel of Death had been hidden by a heavy black cowl covering its head. Now the white hand reached up and pulled the cowl back to reveal what lay beneath. Buffy gasped. It was her own face behind the black folds but not a living face. The eyes were closed, the cheeks sunken, and the skin gray and pasty with the color of death. The voice from the Angel of Death remained unchanged.

"Whose face do you see before you?" It commanded.

". . . mine? . . ." she stammered the answer in confusion.

"Very good!" Ethan couldn't resist.

"Shut Up!" she shouted.

"Whose decision is it to exchange your soul?" The Angel of Death asked.

"Mine," she replied, beginning to understand.

"Let the face you see be a reminder for all eternity that this path was taken of your own free will!"

Buffy nodded but her eyes were wide with mounting fear.

Giles' Citroen screeched to a stop in front of the store. He and Scott leaped out of the car and threw themselves against a metal security gate across the front door of the shop. Heavily padlocked, the gate shook on its runners but didn't budge. Scott grabbed Giles' arm.

"Around back! Quick!" he shouted as he ran down the narrow alley by the side of the storefront with Giles right behind him.

**"**Swear an oath . . . to consummate and seal the exchange . . ." The Angel of Death commanded Buffy, "The Oath of a Slayer which cannot be broken."

She stumbled for words.

"I, Buffy Summers, . . . in order to free the soul of Angel that I unjustly cast into hell . . ."

She stopped for a moment, unable to continue.

Scott and Giles reached the back door but it too was locked. Scott beat on the door wildly and screamed.

"Buffy! Let me in! It's me and Giles!"

Both Giles and Scott threw their shoulders against the door, trying to force it in. There was a sound of rending wood.

Ethan glanced nervously over his shoulder at the weakening door. In a panic, Buffy looked in the same direction. For a second her mind froze up. Then she saw the two paths laid out before her and decided.

"Scott! Get outta here! Please run for your life!" she cried out as she turned back to the Angel of Death. "I offer a soul of equal weight in exchange for that of Angel's! My own!"

The door burst open. Giles and Scott stumbled into the room and stopped, staring in fear at the Angel of Death.

"I swear!" Buffy called out to the entity before her.

"No, Buffy!" Scott shouted.

The shape of darkness, its hand outstretched, glided towards Buffy. Scott, hearing Buffy's words, ran towards her, at the same time removing the blue scarab on the leather thong from around his neck. As he reached Buffy's side, he quickly slid the scarab over her head so that it dropped down onto her chest facing towards the Angel of Death.

The scarab suddenly cast out a blue beam of light that forced the Angel of Death backward, its cowl falling forward hiding the death mask from view. Only a black shadow remained where the corpse like face of Buffy previously stared out.

Buffy looked directly at Scott. She wasn't angry.

"Scott? . . . Why? . . ."

". . . because . . . I . . .," he couldn't force the words out. He felt the vision from the coffee shop and the present reality rapidly converging. He knew he had only seconds left. He quickly kissed her and held her close for a moment. Turning to face the Angel of Death, Scott Hope took a step forward to where the two separate paths finally merged.

Ethan pulled out of his pocket the small ancient glass vial in which the blue vapor was floating. He held it out for both Scott and Buffy to see.

"Oh dear, dear, Rarak. Now you've gone and done it and mucked up the whole deal. Tsk, tsk, tsk, and I had such high hopes for you. You realize of course that our visitor here, once summoned, cannot return empty handed. Not an efficient way to do business, you see. I'm so sorry Rarak, but you never really belonged here."

Ethan quickly turned his hand upside down, allowing the glass vial to plunge to the floor where it shattered releasing the faint wisp of blue vapor. Scott gasped and his eyes widened.

"Oops! How clumsy of me!" Ethan Rayne grinned.

The Angel of Death extended its skeletal hand out towards the vapor. The faint blue color swirled up into the Angel's hand and vanished into the darkness of its robes. As the Angel of Death turned away to depart, Scott, his blue eyes wide with desperation and fear, looked back at Buffy. He quickly fumbled in his jacket pocket and drew out the piece of paper he was writing on in the coffee shop.

Taking Buffy's hands, he wrapped them tightly around the scrap of paper. Suddenly his body began to dematerialize, fading in just a few seconds. His voice called out faintly as his physical form disappeared.

". . . goodbye, Buffy . . ."

In the last instant before he was gone, the image of Scott changed, his human form transforming into the little dragon like demon he drew on the napkin at the restaurant. In shame, he buried his snout and large blue eyes in his paws. Both Scott and the Angel of Death slid away into nothingness.

For a moment, Buffy stared frozen in shock at the spot where Scott vanished. She then slowly looked up at Ethan Rayne.

". . . you . . . bastard!" she said quietly but with steely fury.

She took a step forward, every muscle tensing up, but Giles was at her side immediately with his hand on her shoulder.

"Buffy . . . " he ordered, "Get out of here."

"Not before I do something that should have been done a long time ago!" she seethed, staring at Ethan who was searching for a way to escape the Slayer's wrath.

Giles spoke to Buffy again, but this time there was a Wiccan Tone of Command in his voice.

"Buffy . . . as your Watcher, I am ordering you to go back to the library and await my return. Is that understood?"

Buffy looked up at Giles and finally nodded. Giles reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of keys.

"These are for the building. I'll be there shortly."

Buffy took the keys, then glared at Ethan one last time. She stuffed the paper Scott gave her into her inside jacket pocket and walked slowly to the back door. As she opened the door, she stopped and stared back at Giles.

"Now . . ." he said firmly.

Buffy turned and left, slamming the door behind her. Giles didn't look at Ethan. Instead he slowly paced the floor, staring off into the dark recesses of the room.

"Whew! Bloody hell, I owe you one, Ripper!" Ethan breathed a sigh of relief as he wiped his brow, "I take back all the rotten things I said about you. She would have torn me to pieces."

"I know . . . " Giles stopped pacing and calmly looked up at Ethan, "I should have let her . . . but I need some information."

"Now you're not mad about that Scott, Rarak thing, I hope," Ethan squirmed, "Someone had to be 'it' and since I raised him up from the Demon Dimension four years ago, I figured he was the most logical choice. It was either that . . . or one of us."

Giles just glared at Ethan.

"How do we stop this?" the Watcher asked slowly.

"What?"

"The soul exchange."

"Oh, that," Ethan tried to brush off the question, "Sorry, Ripper, but that's not an option."

Giles pondered Ethan's words.

"She swore the oath. Our friend there will be back in about twenty-four hours to collect."

Giles didn't respond..

"He'll return looking to finish the deal. A soul of 'equal weight' and all that."

Giles finally looked up angrily at Ethan.

"Oh, now Ripper, . . . " Ethan floundered under Giles' withering stare, "I can see why you'd be upset, being down one Slayer and all. But you've got a spare in the wings there - she's a little rough around the edges I admit."

Giles suddenly snatched Ethan by the collar.

"How do I stop it!" Giles shouted.

"I told you! You don't! If she wears that stupid little necklace again, he'll just keep coming back and coming back until the agreed upon soul exchange takes place! And every time he's stopped, . . . well, someone else will die . . . someone close to her."

Giles suddenly pulled his free arm back and belted Ethan across the face. Ethan staggered. Not releasing his grip on Ethan's collar, Giles then dragged Ethan towards one of the walls and began slamming his head into the wall board. The sheet rock cracked and crumbled with each impact.

"TELL ME . . . HOW . . . TO . . . STOP IT!" Giles yelled in unison with the motion of each thrust.

Giles lifted Ethan up straight. He dangled like a rag doll in the Watcher's vice like grip.

"HOW?"

"You can't!" Ethan howled back "You're like that dumb Slayer of yours! You don't listen!"

"NOT THE RIGHT ANSWER!" Giles shouted as he kneed Ethan in the groin. Ethan collapsed on the floor and writhed around the feet of his recliner.

". . . give it up, Ripper!" he gasped, "It's already done! The end will not change!"

Giles glared down at Ethan on the floor. He then spied the liquor bottle on the table beside Ethan's recliner. Giles walked over to the table, picked up the bottle and contemplated what he was about to do. He then took an enormous swig from the bottle. After downing the burning liquid, he stared back at the still gasping form of Ethan.

"What a bloody waste of good Glenfiddich!" Giles said as he shook his head in disgust

Giles smashed the bottle on the floor, snatched the scroll out of the recliner and planted one final kick into Ethan's stomach. He then stormed out the storeroom back door.

Buffy returned to Sunnydale High and the spot in the corridor where she and Scott were together that morning. Seated in the half light on the lounge sofa, she breathed heavily, and her eyes were wide with the horror she had just witnessed. Suddenly remembering, Buffy reached into her coat pocket and retrieved the crumpled sheet of paper Scott had passed to her in his final seconds.

She spread the paper open, but for a moment, Buffy couldn't bring herself to read the rapidly scrawled writing. Her hand trembled and the message rattled slightly in her hand. Finally, taking a deep breath, she turned the wrinkled paper towards the dim light and read quietly to herself.

"Tonight, . . . where I will go . . ." she said the first line out loud but barely above a whisper.

Buffy suddenly stopped, bit her lip and faced away from the paper. She took a moment to compose herself, then began reading again, silently this time. She could hear Scott's voice as if he were by her side in the coffee shop.

"Tonight, where I will go,  
you must not follow me," he said calmly.  
"For all your tiger bright  
and stormy heart I want  
by my side,  
this I must do alone."

"Tonight, stay behind me.  
Paths we follow differ,  
you to your destiny  
in the stars,  
And I descending back  
to the night of my dreams."

"But I shall take comfort  
knowing all I need do  
is gaze up above me  
and there . . . I shall see you."

Buffy slowly refolded the paper. She pressed it smooth between her hands and carefully returned it to her jacket pocket directly over her heart. She leaned down against the arm rest of the lounge sofa and sobbed quietly in the half light of the hallway.

Later the library was dark except for the single lamp in Giles' office. Giles stood behind his office desk which was still piled high with books. In the only clear space in front of him, he rolled open the Luxor Necropolis Text. Leaning over the desk in the dim light, he studied the crumbling parchment, muttering to himself. The beams from the lamp cast his shadow against the office wall. The exaggerated movement of Giles' shadow shifted across the surface like that of a caged animal, searching for an means of escape. In his mind, Ethan Rayne's voice rang over and over.

"The soul exchange? Sorry, Ripper. That's not an option. She swore the oath, the Slayer's Oath that cannot be broken. She offered herself, a soul of 'equal weight' and all that."

"I cannot accept that!" Giles shouted at the empty office.

"Give it up, Ripper! It's already done! He's coming tomorrow night to collect her soul. The end will not change!"

"NO! I am sworn to protect her!" Giles rose in a fury from his chair, "I will not let her be taken! You will not win, you bastard! You will not win!"

Giles stormed away from his desk. He stopped by the locked cabinet and stared at the padlock on the drawer. Slowly he reached into his pocket, drew out a small set of keys and opened the cabinet. Reaching inside, he pulled out the old dusty half full bottle of scotch and a shot glass. For a moment more, he stared at the bottle, then filled the glass and downed it in one swig. Breathing heavily, he strode back over to his desk and placed the bottle and glass next to the Necropolis Text.

Returning his attention to the open parchment, he stared at the faded text. His eyes widened suddenly with understanding. He began reading intently once again but this time the translation had cold clarity. Then Giles leaned back away from the desk and stared straight forward into the ever present darkness. He heard Ethan's voice one final time.

"He'll return looking to finish the deal," Ethan repeated, "A soul of 'equal weight' and all that."

"There is another way . . ." Giles muttered as he struggled with the Necropolis Text again and began reading aloud, his voice quivering.

"Angelus Mortis, . . . Audite Me . . . "

Buffy, having cried herself to sleep, lay curled up on the hallway lounge sofa. She slowly awakened, looked around and rubbed her eyes. Down the hallway, beyond the rows of lockers, she spied a dim light shining from the open door of the library. Rising off the sofa, she walked hesitantly towards the library. Her footsteps echoed in the silence as she approached the open library door that beckoned to her like the mouth of hell.

Giles sat alone in his office where the old fashioned green shade table lamp served as the sole source of illumination. The rest of the library was in complete darkness. By his right hand sat the scotch bottle and the shot glass filled with the amber liquid. In front of him lay two books, one a modest leather bound volume open to the last pages, the other a small black notebook. A 3x5 picture of Jennie Calendar lay in the open volume as a book marker for a particular page. The Luxor Necropolis Text lay scattered uselessly on the floor.

Giles slouched over the open book but had long since stopped reading. Rather he just gazed at the words on the page as well as Jennie's picture. The pungent aromatic smell of scotch filled the office and spilled out into the library.

Buffy entered the library from out of the hallway and crinkled her nose at the aroma. She stopped just inside Giles' office door and stared at him.

"Giles?"

Her Watcher didn't answer. After a moment, Buffy walked over to the desk.

"Giles?" she asked tentatively.

"Oh, hello." Giles answered looking up suddenly in surprise. He then raised the glass and drank down the liquor in one quick slug.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Buffy exclaimed.

"Sorry," Giles replied, holding out the empty shot to Buffy. "Can I offer you one?"

In a fury, Buffy swatted the glass out of Giles' hand. He stared at her for a moment puzzled, then shrugged his shoulders and turned back to the bottle.

"Oh well, maybe later then."

Buffy quickly bent down beside Giles' chair, grabbed him by the lapels of his rumpled tweed jacket and spun him towards her.

"Damn it, Giles! What are you trying to do! That stuff nearly killed you once!"

Giles picked up the bottle and studied it.

"Funny, looks okay now," he answered with drunken sincerity and sniffed the bottle, "Smells fine."

Despairing, Buffy let go of Giles and dropped in a folding chair by the side of the desk. Her face was an agonized mixture of anger and hurt. Her eyes glistened as she struggled to fight back the emotions threatening to overwhelm her.

"Giles, what are you doing this to me for?" she cried out, "What I have to do is hard enough! Trying to hurt me more isn't going to stop what's happening!"

Her Watcher didn't answer. Instead he only gazed at the bottle, running his finger up and down the label on the side.

"ANSWER ME, GILES!" she screamed at him, "What the hell are you doing!"

When Giles finally looked up at her, he spoke with a slow exaggerated formality as if he were waging a battle with his brain to formulate each word without slurring.

"As your Watcher, I'm helping you prepare for your little . . . excursion tomorrow," he said politely, "I was trying to decide what you'll need to take with you. Toothbrush, deodorant, maybe a magazine? I thought I'd better consult one of my books. It is a long journey, and you never know where the next convenience store is along the way."

Buffy stared at Giles with mounting horror. She rose to her feet and stood beside him.

"Giles," she said gently, "Let's go get you some coffee."

"No, no, no," Giles waved her off, "That's all right. I'm fine. Did I tell you what I found?"

He pointed to the small notebook.

"First, this little gem. It's full of spells that were given to me when I originally became a Watcher. Special ones. I've never had need for them before . . . but, well, there's always a first time. And here . . ."

Giles enthusiastically indicated the other leather bound volume, then lifted it with both hands, leaving it open to the page with Jennie's picture. He held the book up to Buffy. She stared at the writing trying to avoid looking at the picture.

"There, read that part right there," Giles continued still pointing.

Buffy stared at the paragraphs Giles indicated. The words made no sense and the letters themselves were indecipherable. The book was in ancient Greek. Completely bewildered, she glared back at Giles.

"What the hell is this? I can't read this!"

"Oh, . . . that's right . . . it is in Greek, isn't it . . ." Giles said in confusion, "Willow hasn't taught you any, yet? . . ."

"Giles, Willow can barely read your stupid Latin stuff!" Buffy answered growing more exasperated.

"Oh . . . " Giles sighed to himself as he took the book back, "It's Plato. The 'Apologia' where Socrates faces condemnation and death at the hands of the Athenian jury."

Giles paused and then stared up hopefully at his Slayer

"You sure you haven't read any Plato?"

"Giles!"

"No, I suppose you haven't. . . " the distraught Watcher muttered through his drunken haze, "Why should you? . . . you're only going to die tomorrow."

Buffy shivered as she stared at Giles, and moisture ran down her cheek. Giles looked back at her, reached up and touched the skin of her face, wiping away the faint trail of wetness.

"No . . ." he said firmly as if her tears had a magical power that suddenly made him sober, "You're the Slayer . . . you can't die."

"I am, Giles," she answered quietly, "There's no changing that."

"And you haven't read Plato?" Giles replied as the scotch overwhelmed him once more.

"Giles!"

"You really should . . . " he said, turning away from her, "But I guess it's too late now and I don't suppose there's a library . . . down there. . . . "

Looking back up at Buffy, Giles spoke, his words now pleading with her.

"The Athenians would have set Socrates free, you know, but he forced them to condemn him. He chose his death . . . as a final lesson to those whom he loved dearly."

Buffy heard the tone of his voice and sat down beside him. She listened as he spoke and tried to understand.

"As Socrates was about to be led away," Giles continued, "He explained to the jurors how they were all setting out on different journeys, for them journeys of life . . . and for him . . . the journey into another state of existence . . . death . . ."

Giles stared into Buffy's eyes.

"He said, 'And which of us sets out upon the better path, . . . is known only to God.'"

For a moment, Giles and Buffy looked silently at each other, their faces etched with the agony of what they knew was coming on the next night. Finally Buffy hung her head and the tears flowed freely down her face. Giles took her head in his arms and held her tightly to him. He tried to speak reassuringly but his eyes were red and his face flushed from the alcohol.

"Sshh, Buffy, sshh. . . you will not die . . . you will not . . ."

Giles held her protectively as the darkness in the library hung over them both like a shroud.


	8. Chapter 8

**_The Better Path - Part 8_**

**_by Gaius Petronius_**

DISCLAIMER:  
Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all the characters that appear on the show are the exclusive property of Joss Whedon, Fox and Mutant Enemy,Inc. I only borrow them, mess with their heads making them cry and, every so often, torture them.

**The Better Path  
by Gaius Petronius**

**Chapter 9 - Precious Beyond Words.**

Morning is supposed to bring renewal, new light and awakening from the terrors of the night. The air is fresh and clean bringing with it hope and determination to face the new day. But this morning had no power to dispel the shadows that lingered from the previous night.

Willow, Xander, Oz, Cordelia and Faith gathered in the library before first period. An air of gloom and foreboding weighed on them all. No one spoke. Rather, they gazed at the closed door to Giles' office, behind which Buffy and Giles had been sequestered since before school opened.

Willow sat in front of her terminal, but she paid no attention to the screen. Xander, Oz and Cordelia gathered around the table below the stacks. Only Faith lingered apart from the rest and wasn't awaiting word from Giles' office. She sat alone in a folding metal chair by the book stacks. Her head leaned against the wood frame of the shelves close beside her. She stared blankly down towards the floor and was uncharacteristically silent.

"Is it second period? . . ." Willow said if she were waking slowly from a dream, "I'm missing computer class . . . I guess I'll get in trouble when Snyder learns everybody ditched out when I didn't show."

"It's okay, Will," Oz said, "Don't sweat the small stuff."

". . . but I never miss computer class . . ."

"How long they been in there?" Xander pointed towards the closed door of Giles' office.

"I don't think Giles left last night," Willow said, "That's two nights in a row. And I saw Buffy go in real early this morning after I talked to Giles. She didn't look like she'd been to bed."

Cordelia fidgeted.

"Well I can't stand this just sitting around here," she complained, "Isn't there something we can do?"

"Like what?" Oz said, hoping she would just stop talking. Unfortunately his unspoken wish acted like one of Willow's incantations suddenly operating in reverse.

"I don't know! Bop a demon! Look in the books! Make a spell from some of those smelly weeds you have, Willow!

Cordelia folded her arms across her chest.

"I'm not a patient person!" she huffed.

Xander almost broke out laughing but controlled himself at the last second. Cordelia saw Xander's reaction but she chose to ignore him. As she turned away, her eyes fell on Faith who hadn't spoken or moved. Cordelia got up from the table, walked up to the stacks and pulled a second chair up beside Faith. One by one, the others slowly noticed what was happening.

"Hey, Tough Girl," she said, "You okay?"

Faith glanced up at Cordelia but didn't say anything.

". . . I saw you two dancing at the Bronze the other night. . . . I'm sorry," Cordelia continued with uncharacteristic empathy.

Faith shook her head as if she still couldn't believe what had happened.

"He was cute . . . he was a really cool kid. . . . and funny. Geez, you shoulda seen it when he punched out that vamp that was hassling him."

"Uh . . . I guess . . . you sorta had to be there," Cordelia replied, not quite getting the image.

"After the vamps split, he's pretty badly beat up, . . . " Faith started smiling as she remembered pulling Scott to his feet, ". . . and Buffy's all pissed off and yelling at him."

Xander and Oz grinned as well, as they imagined Buffy in meltdown mode. Telling the story, Faith imitated Buffy's tantrum.

"And she's screaming, 'What the hell's going on here!' So Scott looks at her, black eye and all, dead pans her and says, 'Uh . . . Mr. Trick doesn't like me?'"

Xander laughed but covered his mouth. Oz shook his head as he smiled. Even Willow grinned. Faith tried hard not to laugh. Then, suddenly with a look descending across her face that the Scoobies have never seen before, Faith stared Cordelia straight in the face.

"This sucks, Cords . . ." she said quietly, "This sucks so bad . . ."

"I know . . . I know," the head cheerleader answered.

Faith leaned back against the book stacks. Suddenly the door to Giles' office slowly opened. Giles came out and shut the door behind him. He was unshaven and clearly hung over. His eyes had a glazed expression. Everyone stood up expectantly. Willow was about to speak, but Giles cut her off.

"She doesn't want to see anyone," he said in a soft monotone to the group.

"What?" the Scoobies exclaimed with virtually one voice.

"She doesn't feel this is something any of you should be involved in."

At first no one could believe what they had just heard Giles say. It took a few moments for the Slayer's rejection of her friends to sink in.

"Whoa! Whoa! Whoa, here!" Xander finally burst out, "The big kahuna of the Demon Dimension swinging his blade on the stick thing is coming for her and we can't be involved?"

"It's a scythe, Xander," Willow slipped in gently.

"I'm simply relaying her wishes," the Watcher replied.

"Well you tell her to get out here and tell it to us face to face!" Xander shouted as he puffed up.

Suddenly the door to Giles' office swung open, Buffy stalked out and stood beside Giles. Her hair was disheveled and her eyes, lined with dark circles, were red from crying. She glared coldly at Xander.

"Okay, Xander. I'm out here and I'm telling you. Butt out!"

The rebuke caused Xander to wilt. His eyes widened. Shamed and hurt, he looked down at the floor. Buffy turned to Giles.

"Giles, I'm going home now. I'll be back tonight."

"That's probably for the best. I'll continue working on our . . . problem."

"Giles, you don't have to," Buffy said, her tone unnaturally calm, "We both know how it'll all end."

"Nevertheless, indulge me."

"Hey, it's your life," Buffy shrugged her shoulders and strode past the others as she headed for the library door. She glanced at Faith standing besides the book stacks and stopped.

"'B?'" Faith asked quietly as Buffy walked over to join her.

Faith, . . . I'm sorry . . . " Buffy stumbled for something to say, "But I couldn't stop him."

"Little twerp, never would do what he was told . . ." Both Slayers grinned slightly.

"Yeah, just wasn't in him I guess . . . " Buffy continued and looked up at Faith, "Heck, I was even gonna have Giles fix you two up after I was gone."

"Thanks for the thought," Faith said sincerely, with no irony in her voice, "Man, I don't know whether I'd ever have had the balls to do what he did . . . "

She looked directly at Buffy.

"He really loved you, ya know."

"Yeah . . ." Buffy replied quietly, her response laced with bitterness, "And look what it got him. But on the bright side, maybe I'll have company down there."

Buffy turned to leave but Faith reached out and grabbed her by the shoulder.

"Damn it, 'B!' What the hell is wrong with you? What Scott did for you . . . and you're just walking out of here?"

Buffy was silent for a moment. She only stared at Faith. The agony of the previous night's events were visible all over her exhausted face.

"That's all I feel . . . What Scott did," Buffy said while trying to keep from shaking.

"Then fight for it!" Faith demanded.

"For what?" Buffy replied as if in a daze, "He's gone. He's never coming back."

"But what he did . . . why he did it, isn't that worth fighting for?" Faith challenged her.

Buffy just shook her head and turned away.

"I have a debt to pay," she said under her breath.

Faith grabbed Buffy again, by the arm this time and harshly yanked her back.

"Screw your debt!" Faith swore, "Nobody wants this! Not you, not us, not Angel . . . and especially not Scott! 'B,' this isn't over! There's no way I'm letting you go through with this!"

Faith turned to the other Scoobies.

"None of us are!"

"There's nothing you can do," Buffy said quietly to them all.

"Bullshit!" Faith shot back, "We'll find something! You're not going it alone tonight!"

"I don't want you guys to see it happen."

"It ain't gonna happen! Slayer's First Rule - 'Stay Alive!'"

Faith let go of Buffy's arm.

"All right, get outta here," Faith gave her a playful shove, "I'm letting you off easy for now. But remember tonight . . . no more Ms. Nice Slayer."

Buffy grinned at Faith.

"Give it your best shot," she said as she turned and left the library. For a few moments everyone else stared at the door to the library as it slammed shut. Willow finally broke the silence and asked the question that was on all their minds.

"Giles? What are we going to do?" All the Scoobies recognized the fear in her voice. She wasn't looking for a perfect answer either, just some indication from Giles that might be any kind of solution.

"Well, . . ." the Watcher replied absent mindedly as he fussed with his glasses, "I have to go back and review the Necropolis Text again. . . . There might be something I've missed . . ."

It was not the response they were looking for.

"Buffy's given up, hasn't she?" Willow asked quietly.

The whole room seemed to hold its breath awaiting the answer. Giles sat down and ran his hands through his hair.

"Yes . . . " he finally said after a moment, "She's still convinced that . . . this is the only way to redeem Angel . . . and herself."

"Giles, she's crazy!" Xander burst out, his emotions now short circuiting, "This is Buffy! Buffy doesn't give up! Besides, nobody would do something like . . ."

Giles interrupted Xander.

"In a moment of extreme crisis, you wouldn't lay down your life for someone you loved?"

No one in the library responded. Cordelia cast a questioning look over at Xander. He didn't see her staring at him. Oz gazed down at the floor, a puzzled look on his face.

"I've wrestled with that thought all night," Giles said looking around at all of them, "Would I have done it for Jennie?. . . Would any of you . . . for someone that was precious to you beyond words?"

"Giles, don't tell me you're buying into what she's doing?" Faith demanded.

"No, no, of course not. But we have two problems here. I can't find a way to counter act the Slayer's Oath and send back the Angel of Death. There's nothing in the Necropolis Text or any of my other books about reversing a soul exchange once it's been initiated. That's problem one. But the second is more serious, . . . Buffy has no desire to turn back what is going to happen."

Giles looked directly at Willow.

"Yes, Willow, she has given up. Given up to the point where she'll brook no interference."

Willow struggled to rally a defense.

"Well, if there's nothing in the manuscript," she exclaimed doing her best to convey a morning perky, "There's still got to be something in your books. We'll all go into research mode, right guys?"

"That's all well and good," the Librarian replied, "But I'm afraid we're dealing with something more dangerous and unpredictable than anything we've ever faced, even the Judge or Acathla himself. This is an entity far older than any demons or creatures that have existed since humans walked the earth."

Fear began to crawl across the faces of all the group as Giles described what was coming for Buffy after sundown.

"This entity is an eternal force, a being from beyond all time and aging which has ravaged the world since life first struggled up out of the primordial mixture of creation.

Giles paused and then continued slowly.

"With all life there must come death and with Death appears the messenger or servant. . . . It is called many things in many cultures but through all ages it is still the 'Angelus Mortis,' The Angel of Death."

"Way to drum up the enthusiasm, Big Guy," Faith muttered.

Willow ignored the remark.

"Couldn't we use some kind of a protecting or restraining spell to keep it away from Buffy?" she said.

Giles shook his head.

"That would be fine if we were dealing with your ordinary run of the mill demon, but with the Angelus Mortis, once it is sent by the Ruler of the Demon Dimension, its master, it cannot return empty handed."

Giles looks directly at Faith.

"Scott knew that," he said, "When he pulled the protective scarab off himself . . . and placed it over Buffy, interrupting the soul exchange."

Unseen by the others, Willow gently fingered the scarab on the leather thong hidden under her blouse. Suddenly, she looked up as Xander spoke out.

"But if the soul exchange could be interrupted, couldn't it be stopped as well?" he asked.

"I . . . I just don't know," Giles rubbed his head and appeared to be giving in to confusion and exhaustion.

"Giles, . . . " Willow had an idea, "Maybe you better go home and get some sleep. You can't think clearly. You're like, totally burned out."

"But . . ."

"We'll do the research," she said, "Just point us in the right direction."

Giles struggled to bring order to the chaos in his exhausted mind. He had to establish some kind of methodology to the search.

"Well, you'll need Karistos' 'Necromancer,'" he began to ramble, "And my copy of the Egyptian Book of the Dead is in the office drawer. It's the Budge translation which is not very good but it'll have to do. And Bacon's 'Forbidden Rights,' may give you some leads. Also some of the fragments of Hermes Trismegistos. It's mostly alchemical but there is some material on spirit and souls. That's in the cabinet with the manuscript folders. You might try the surviving Martel notebook. His writings also delved into the nature of the soul. That should be enough to get you started."

"We're on it!" Willow announced and then said gently "Giles . . ."

"Yes?"

"Go home. We'll cover for you."

"Yes, I suppose you're right," Giles agreed as he rose, heading into his office, "After a shower and a few hours of sleep, I can approach this from a fresh perspective."

All the other Scoobies looked back and forth at each other. The tone in Giles' voice conveyed no optimism or determination. Giles walked into his office and picked up the small black notebook. He returned to the library and, without speaking, walked past the group gazing fearfully at him and left. As the library door slapped shut, Willow looked back at the others.

"All right, let's do it!" she announced with as much enthusiasm as she could muster.

Willow, Xander, Oz, Cordelia and Faith all scattered to different corners of the library to retrieve the research material Giles suggested.

Hours passed as the Scooby Gang poured through piles of books. Faith, Cordelia and Xander sat at the large central table. Two boxes of donuts, one of them empty, lay open in front of Xander. His face was covered with powdered sugar. He and Faith reached for the last jelly donut. They both latched onto it at the same time.

"Hey! That one's mine!" Xander said refusing to give in.

"You wanna fight me for it!" Faith laughed.

"I saw it first!"

"You saw them all first! Doesn't mean you can eat 'em all first, too!"

Disgusted, Cordelia reached out and slapped Faith and Xander's hands. Shocked, they dropped the donut. Cordelia snatched it up and daintily took a small bite.

"Hey! I thought we were still pretending!" Xander complained to Cordelia

"New rule. I'll pretend when I'm not hungry!" she shot back.

"Uh . . . guys?" Oz said, "The books? They're asking to be read."

Xander and Faith sheepishly returned their attention to their respective volumes.

"I dibbs the one with the chocolate sprinkles," Xander whispered to Faith.

"Just try and get it!" she replied under her breath.

Buffy lay in bed at home staring up at the ceiling. Joyce Summers poked her head in the door, then entered the room with a small plate of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

"Buffy, you sure you don't want anything to eat? I made your favorite, PB&J?"

"Thanks, Mom. I'm really not hungry."

Joyce set the plate on Buffy's bedside table and sat down on the bed next to her daughter. She placed her hand over Buffy's forehead, feeling for a fever.

"You're not hot."

"I just feel lousy," Buffy said.

Buffy stared at her mother, then sat up and wrapped her arms around her in a big hug.

"I love you, Mom," she silently mouthed the words so her mother couldn't hear.

Buffy held her mother tightly for a moment. Then she released her embrace.

"My. What brought that on?" Joyce asked mildly surprised. Buffy dodged the question.

"I'm tired. I think I want to take a nap."

"Okay, you call me if you need anything."

Joyce got up and left the room, shutting the door behind her. Buffy lay back on her comforter and stared silently at the ceiling once more.

In his apartment bathroom, Giles finished shaving in front of the vanity mirror. Naked to the waist, he splashed his face with water, trying to massage some clarity back into his exhausted brain. He stared at his reflection in the mirror as the drops fell onto the sink and floor. Finally he pulled a towel off the wall rack, dried his face and slid his shirt back on.

He walked out into the hallway and across to his bedroom. There, on the small bedside table sat the small black notebook from his office. He picked it up and opened the book to a particular page. He read silently, then, after a moment, closed the book. He dropped it back on the bedside table and stared off into the bedroom. In his mind, he heard over and over his own words from earlier in the day.

"In a moment of extreme crisis, you wouldn't lay down your life for someone you loved? . . . Would I have done it for Jennie?. . . Would any of you . . . for someone that was precious to you beyond words?"

Giles bowed his head into his hand.

The first signs of the sunset were visible in the shadows that began to creep across Buffy's bedroom. Buffy sat at her dressing table. She slowly reached under her blouse and pulled the scarab on the leather thong out into the open where she gazed at it in her outstretched palm. She spoke softly to the delicately carved stone.

"Scott, please don't be angry with me . . . I think you can hear me . . . I know you can. What I'm doing now for Angel I have to do . . . because of what I did. But what you did for me . . . I never thought I'd ever feel like this again after . . ."

Buffy stopped in mid sentence and her fingers tightened around the little blue scarab.

'I hope I get to say this in person but in case I don't . . . I'll tell you my secret, just between friends . . . I think . . . I know . . . I love you, too."

Buffy paused and stared vacantly at the mirror. When she spoke again, it was as if she were responding to a silent question from an unseen entity sitting right beside her.

"It's okay. I'll be all right. . . . Don't be sad. You're always so sad . . . And now that we're real friends, I'll can tell you another secret. The only thing that's kept me going today is the hope that I might get to see you again . . . really . . . that I won't be alone . . . I mean you could give me the whole tour, show me the ropes and all. Point out those jerks that are always beating you up. We'll see how tough they are when they have to handle the two of us together!

Slowly, Buffy pulled the leather thong over her head. When it was off, she cupped the scarab in her hand and softly brought it to her lips. She kissed the blue stone and gently placed it on her dressing table. Buffy then stood and walked over to the door. Only for a moment more, she gazed around at the furnishings and all the possessions of her life. She then turned and quietly slipped out of the bedroom.

Faith paced impatiently by the library door. She kept glancing at the advancing darkness through the library windows. Oblivious to the fall of night, the rest of the Scoobies were still busy searching through Giles' books. Giles had returned and redirected the search to treatises on protective spells. Willow and Oz poured over one particular large volume on the center table.

"Guys! We don't have much time left!' Faith called out looking up nervously at the windows again.

"I could cast these spells," Willow said to Oz, "But they're just for driving out little demons and sprites and things. There's nothing here about anything big time like the Angel of Death."

Oz thought for a second.

"Will, can you concentrate one of those spells?" he asked.

"Huh?"

"Think of it like the spell is sunlight and you're a magnifying glass. By itself the sun only heats up stuff so much. But if you concentrate it with the lens, focus it, you can start a fire."

"Wow . . . but I don't know whether I'm that good or not?"

"Believe me, you're that good!" Oz grinned, "Any chick that can short circuit an entire city block is good! You just gotta concentrate."

Glancing over her shoulder, Willow scanned the library for Giles.

"Giles? You think it would work? Giles . . . ?" she asked.

The Watcher was missing.

"He went outside a few minutes ago for some air," Faith said.

"Shouldn't Buffy be here soon?" Xander said, folding shut another volume with no success.

"Maybe he went out to wait for her," Willow suggested.

The steps and parking lot of the Sunnydale High could be a lonely place at dusk Giles thought as he stood outside at the top of the stairs. The sun was dipping below the horizon, and the trees cast long shadows across the pavement and concrete sidewalks.

His hands firmly in his pockets, Giles stood still, waiting. Suddenly movement in the falling dark caught his attention. Walking onto the school grounds, Buffy slowly approached the foot of the steps. She stopped, and Giles came down to meet her. As they stood together, Buffy silently leaned her head against her Watcher while he wrapped his arms around her protectively. For a moment neither moved. Then they walked slowly over towards Giles' car. He opened the passenger door and Buffy climbed in. Giles got in on the other side, started the motor and pulled out of the parking lot.

In the library, Faith suddenly snapped to attention at the sound of a car engine out in the parking lot. The noise was peculiar, not like the sound of an American built automobile.

"What's that?" she called out.

Willow, Xander, Oz, Cordelia and Faith all listened as the engine accelerated.

"Giles!" Willow yelled.

The whole group leaped up as one from the tables, ran for the library door and charged out into the hallway.

In a moment, the entire Scooby Gang all rushed out the front door onto the school steps. They were just in time to see Giles' beat up Citroen disappear down the street leaving its tell tale trail of exhaust.

"GILES!" Willow screamed after the car.

"He can't hear you, Will," Oz said.

"Damn! That sneak!" Faith cursed.

They all stood silently for a moment.

"What the hell is he doing?" Cordelia finally asked.

"He's got Buffy with him," Oz said.

Xander couldn't stand and do nothing.

"We gotta follow them!" he said, trying to rally the others, "We gotta stop what's coming down here!"

"But Giles knows what he's doing," Cordelia protested.

"Not this time! He hasn't a clue!" Xander said, "You been watching him all day? He's walking around like a dead man!"

"But where are he and Buffy going?" Willow asked.

"My bet's the old mansion!" Xander said, "Where she killed Angel . . . Willow, can you do one of those spells you were just looking at?"

"I can try. I'll have to go get it."

"That's all we got left. Let's do it!"

"I'll go with you!" Oz said as he joined Willow. Both ran back inside for the library.

Xander turned to Cordelia.

"Cordy, get your car fired up! You're driving!"

"Hey! How come I'm always stuck as chauffeur?" Cordelia whined, "What about Oz's van?"

This time Xander had the come back.

"We need speed, Babe, not bulk."

Faith, Xander and Cordelia ran over to her red convertible in the parking lot. As they clambered in, Faith sang out.

"Wow! A spin in the Cordmobile! I feel privileged."

Oz and Willow burst in through the library doors and ran over to the central table where Willow had been reading earlier. She stopped and realized the volume with the spells was huge and would be awkward to lug around.

"This thing is enormous!" She cried out in frustration.

Oz reached down, tore off the section of the page with the spell and handed it to Willow.

"What did you do that for?" Willow gasped at the desecration.

"Deal with it! Giles'll understand!" he replied as they turned to run out of the room.

Suddenly Willow stopped in mid stride, her mind racing. Oz rejoined her.

"Come on!" he insisted, "What's up?"

Willow quickly pulled the leather thong and the scarab from around her neck and slipped it on over Oz's head. He held it up in his hand, puzzled.

"What's this all about?" he asked

Willow ran out of the library without answering. Oz followed her.


	9. Chapter 9

**_The Better Path - Part 9_**

**_by  
Gaius Petronius_**

DISCLAIMER:  
Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all the characters that appear on the show are the exclusive property of Joss Whedon, Fox and Mutant Enemy, Inc. I only borrow them, mess with their heads, make them cry and, every once in a while, torture them.

**The Better Path  
by Gaius Petronius**

**Chapter 10 - "Hold me back by a gentle touch"**

Giles and Buffy stood staring up at the walls of the Dearborn mansion. Giles held the small black notebook under his arm. Buffy lingered halfway up the stairway to the front door. The mansion itself appeared to leer back at her like a nameless demon. They waited silently for a long time as the last rays of daylight vanished leaving darkness to blend in with the overgrowth on the building grounds. Finally Giles spoke.

"Buffy, it doesn't have to end this way. There are spells . . . I know there are methods by which this can be altered . . . or at least postponed."

"No, Giles. Remember, I swore. I gave my word. The oath of a Slayer to the Angel of Death. That's binding. There must be a soul exchange."

"But, Buffy, if I just had more time . . ."

Buffy turned angrily to her Watcher.

"Like last night?" she shouted, "No, Giles! . . . What difference does it make if you have all the time in the world or no time at all . . . if the end is still going to be the same?"

"Buffy,' he said slowly, praying she could somehow understand, "The end _is_ always the same no matter what. It's the paths we choose and how we travel them that make the difference."

"And what if we've had no choice!" she countered, "If we've had to destroy what we love in order to save what must be saved! Up to now, I've had no choice, Giles! I never have! And the one time I did make a choice . . ."

Buffy stopped in mid sentence. Giles waited a moment before he finished her thought. He climbed the few steps up to stand beside her.

". . . and only you have the right to judge if that choice was right or wrong. But not tonight, Buffy!"

"Well I'm making a choice again!" she fired back, "You give me one reason why I should stay on your precious path!"

". . . that's easy . . . " her Watcher said quietly after a pause, ". . . for those that love you . . . one in particular . . . Scott."

Buffy looked sharply at Giles. She shook her head trying to find the words to continue the argument but failed.

". . . and with all those reasons, why should there be questions in your heart?"

The sound of a speeding automobile roaring up the long driveway interrupted Giles. The headlights of Cordelia's red convertible pierced the falling night and shown through the overgrown brush on the mansion grounds.

"How the hell did they know we were gonna be here? You told them!" Buffy said accusingly to Giles. He only shook his head and answered her with a fatalistic shrug of his shoulders.

"I did no such thing," he said "Willow is far more knowledgeable than you give her credit. And the others, regardless of what's happened, will follow her."

"Damn it!" In a fury, Buffy abandoned Giles and climbed up the rest of the mansion steps at a brisk walk. Giles didn't follow. The car screeched to a halt. In another moment, Oz's van appeared out of the night and lumbered to a stop behind the red convertible. All the Scoobies piled out of the two vehicles and ran up to join Giles on the stairs.

"We're not too late?" Xander shouted.

"Not yet." Giles said trying to remain calm.

"That stupid bitch!" Faith yelled up the stairs, "Buffy! Get yer ass back down here!"

Buffy glanced back at Faith, then turned and disappeared into the mansion.

"I don't think obscenities are going to be terribly productive at this stage," Giles said with understated sarcasm to Faith.

"Don't knock it if ya ain't tried it!" she snapped back, "Yer smart talk has really made big progress! Buffy!"

Faith tore away from the group around Giles, climbed the stairs and pushed her way through the front door where Buffy entered moments earlier. The others moved to follow but Giles grabbed Xander by the shoulder.

"Give them a moment," the Watcher said.

Puzzled, Xander and the others looked at Giles.

"We don't have many options left. Who knows, maybe a little Slayer to Slayer persuasion might do some good."

Inside, Buffy stood in the middle of the mansion central hall, gazing at the spot where Angel vanished into the vortex. Faith entered through the main doorway. She stopped halfway across the hall and called softly to Buffy.

"Buffy. . ."

The Slayer didn't respond. Faith walked over towards Buffy.

"Hey, 'B,'" Faith said more insistently, "Ya gotta talk to me."

"Why?" Buffy answered not looking at her. "There's nothing to be changed here."

"I'll tell you why! 'Cause you're walking out on this job and sticking me with the whole thing!"

"You're a big girl. You can handle it. Besides, Giles thinks you're 'enthusiastic.'"

"'B, why the hell do you want to do this?" Faith was growing angry.

"I don't . . . " Buffy replied almost in a whisper, "But I can't live with what I did to Angel. He knew. For that fraction of a second, he knew. If there was some way it could have been me instead of him, I would have taken his place without thinking . . . "

Buffy glared directly at Faith.

"Wouldn't you, for someone you loved? . . . and now there is a way . . . so we're just trading places."

"I can't talk you out of this?" Faith said, edging closer to Buffy.

"It has to happen, Faith. There must be an exchange of souls. The Slayer's oath can't be broken."

"Now, hang on a sec!" Faith protested. "What would happen if you just turned around and walked outta here?"

Buffy scowled at Faith.

"I mean, who's to stop us from parading out that door, never looking back, and heading down to the Bronze for a couple of Virgin Marys. Heck, we could lock you in Oz's cage in the Library."

"And you don't think the Angel of Death would find me anywhere I went?"

'Worth a shot," Faith said, shrugging her shoulders.

"No. It's not," Buffy replied with finality.

Faith had reached her goal. She now stood right next to Buffy.

"You're one stubborn babe. I can't fight that," Faith sighed with feigned resignation. She then held out the bait.

"Okay, bye bye hug?"

Faith opened her arms to Buffy. Buffy turned to her and raised her arms as well. Before the two met, Faith grabbed one of Buffy's outstretched hands and twisted it behind her back. With lightning speed, she snatched Buffy's free arm and yanked it back with the first. She then whirled a set of handcuffs out of her coat pocket and clamped them down on Buffy's twisted wrists. Buffy, caught totally off guard, squirmed wildly but Faith was now standing behind her, her arms wrapped around Buffy's shoulders, and had her restrained.

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?' Buffy shouted

"I told you, no more Ms. Nice Slayer!" Faith snarled back, struggling to keep Buffy under control, "I'm getting you outta here 'til your brain starts working again! I wasn't kidding about Oz's cage! Giles! Guys! Gimme a hand here!"

Buffy swirled in Faith's grip. She swung one leg under Faith, tripping the second Slayer. Faith's hold didn't break, and, as she fell backwards, she pulled Buffy down with her. Both struck the stone floor hard. Faith was momentarily stunned. The fraction of a second was enough for Buffy to break out of her grip and jump to her feet.

As Giles and the others poured in the main doorway, Buffy leaped across the empty hall, throwing herself backwards as hard as she could against an angular edge in the stone walls. She directed the force of the blow against the handcuffs and there was a loud crack as one of the metal links between the clasps snapped. Her hands were free.

Regaining her wind, Faith jumped to her feet and stood staring at Buffy. When she realized Buffy was free and there was nothing more she could do, she dropped her fighting stance. Buffy remained on the defensive; her hands with the broken cuffs still around them raised defiantly in front of her.

"You got lousy taste in jewelry," she said to Faith, indicating the cuffs dangling from her wrists.

"Yea, cheezy flea market stuff," Faith answered realizing she was defeated, "You can't blame a girl for trying though."

"Nah, . . . guess ya can't," Buffy answered after a moment. Then she faced Giles and the others. "I want you guys out of here!"

No one moved or said anything. They just stared at her.

"We're not leaving, Buff," Xander finally said.

"You can't do anything!" Buffy shouted back.

"That's not true, Buffy!" Willow answered with defiance, "You can always do something!"

Giles walked towards Buffy and held out the little black book.

"Willow's right," he said, "Remember this little book I showed you last night? The one I was given when I first became a Watcher? Well, I found something in it . . . I want to share it with you."

Giles drew close to Buffy's side. She still wouldn't drop her defensive stance. Giles opened the black book.

"It's a gentle spell, calming, for just this kind of moment. I never thought I would ever need to use it."

He flipped by several pages and then read to her.

"When my heart and soul are breaking,  
And all the spirit inside me aching,  
Hold me back by a gentle touch,  
And so my pain won't hurt so much."

Buffy listened to Giles, while the stern frown on her face dissolved. In it's place came a sorrowful smile. She lowered her arms.

"Oh. . . . Giles . . ." she murmured, a sob welling in her throat.

"Say it with me?" her Watcher asked, his voice soothing.

Together they recited the spell, Buffy speaking hesitantly at first. As they did, Giles gently brushed the disheveled hair off Buffy's forehead. She stared up at him, her eyes wide and glistening.

"When my heart and soul are breaking,  
And all the spirit inside me aching,  
Hold me back by a gentle touch,  
And so my pain won't hurt so much."

Giles took his hand and wiped a lone tear off Buffy's cheek. Willow, Xander, Oz, and Cordelia stood motionless, hypnotized by the gentle cadence of the words. Only the expression on Faith's face changed. Her eyes widened in horror.

"Oh no . . . " she whispered, "Giles, no . . . please don't . . ."

"Say it again with me," Giles asked Buffy. Both spoke together, their words like a soft chant before the gates of Paradise.

"When my heart and soul are breaking,  
And all the spirit inside me aching,  
Hold me back by a gentle touch,  
And so my pain won't hurt so much."

Giles placed his hand on Buffy's head as if he were blessing her.

"There, it's done . . ." he said, "You are the Slayer. I promise you, . . . you will not die."

He then stepped back from her. Not understanding, Buffy stared back at him.

"Giles? " she said as she turned and saw the look of agony on Faith. "Faith! What the hell is going on here?"

Neither would answer.

"What did you just do?" Buffy demanded of Giles as she spun about to confront him.

"My Watcher used that spell on me once," Faith finally blurted out, "It's a restraining spell, Buffy, the only control a Watcher has over a Slayer."

"A what!"

Buffy went to move but her hand struck an invisible obstruction. She jumped back in surprise. She then kicked outward, but her foot hit the same unseen wall. She tried to walk forward but bounced off what appeared to be an invisible force surrounding her on all sides.

"What the hell did you do, Giles!"

"Faith is right," he answered, his voice calm. "Sometimes the stress of a Slayer's duties is emotionally overwhelming. The spell is like a 'time out.' But it has to be spoken by the Slayer. Don't worry. It only lasts a few minutes. You'll be free in no time."

"That's a cheap trick, Giles!" Buffy snarled, "This won't stop the exchange!"

"I know," Giles replied quietly.

"'B' you don't get it, do you!" Faith yelled. Buffy sensed the desperation in the other Slayer's tone. Buffy turned back to look at Faith.

"He's going in your place, Buffy!" Faith said as she gazed at Giles

All the events of the past twenty-four hours suddenly became crystal clear. Buffy spun to stare accusingly at Giles but when their eyes met, she saw from the look of peaceful resignation on his face that they only had a few moments left. Her eyes widened in horror and her mouth moved trying to form words but no sound emerged. As the realization of what was about to happen descended on her, she could only whisper one word.

" . . no . . ." she cried out in a near silent scream.

In the center of the hall only a few feet from Giles, the Angel of Death stepped out of a sudden pool of nothingness. It was completely concealed in a black robe and cowl with the exception of a pair of white emaciated hands protruding from the sleeves. Its face couldn't be seen. The voice that spoke was deep, hollow and reverberated in the hall like an echo.

". . . Rupert Giles . . ." it said.

". . . yes . . ." the Watcher nodded.

". . . no . . . no, Giles . . ." Buffy cried, her panic building.

"You are prepared to complete our agreed upon bargain?"

Giles' response was firm and unwavering.

"Yes."

The Angel of Death slid the cowl back from its concealed face. As the pale visage came into view, Willow gasped and Cordelia turned away in fear. Xander and Oz winced at what they saw and Buffy let out a scream of fury and anguish. Rather than her face as she saw on the night she swore the oath, the Angel of Death now wore a graying death mask of Giles.

Buffy threw herself wildly against the unseen barrier surrounding her. She rained a hail of blows against her invisible prison, at the same time screaming.

"Giles! No! No! Giles!"

"Whose face do you see before you?" the Angel of Death said.

"My own," he replied.

"Whose choice is it to exchange your soul?"

"My own,"

"Let that face be a reminder for all eternity that this path was taken of your own free will."

The Angel of Death held out its skeletal hand.

"NO, GILES! Faith! Guys! Stop Him! Please!" Buffy screamed as she felt the pain intensifying from hammering her fists against the invisible barrier.

Without hesitation, Faith darted towards the shadowy figure and attempted to plant a kick into the mid section of the Angel of Death, but her blow passed through as if nothing were there. Only the robe of the Angel of Death shifted gently as if disturbed by a passing breeze.

Faith attacked again, but this time, before she could strike, the Angel of Death waved its pale bony hand at her. Faith was suddenly lifted off her feet and thrown violently across the Hall against a wall. She collapsed to the floor, blood oozing from a gash in her forehead. She didn't move.

Xander ran forward and stood between the Angel of Death and Giles. Taking a deep breath, he faced Giles.

"Xander, what are you doing?" Giles asked calmly.

Xander thumbed over his shoulder indicating the Angel of Death.

"I think I have a better chance of persuading you than your clone, here."

"Please, don't make me have to punch your lights out," Giles smiled, shaking his head.

"Uh, I really didn't want it to come to that . . ."

Xander took a swing at Giles who easily parried the punch. Xander swung again. This time Giles grabbed Xander's arm, twisted it behind his back and kicked Xander away from the center of the hall. Xander slammed into Cordelia and Oz who were standing close together. All of them toppled in a pile on the stone floor.

Suddenly Willow stepped forward, her eyes a deep black as if they were opened up to channel the forces of the Pit. She raised both hands as if about to begin an incantation. Giles saw her.

"No! Willow don't!" the Watcher shouted.

"Like you said, Giles. We don't have many options left." she answered.

Willow took a deep breath, stepped up to confront the Angel of Death and began chanting. Her voice, laced with Control, rang in the central hall.

"Praenuntius Mortis, redite ad Infernos!  
(Return to the Inferno, Harbinger of Death!)  
Hic solum bonitas est!  
(There is only goodness here!)  
Abite cum manibus, Angelus Mortis, inanibus!  
(Angel of Death, depart with empty hands!)  
Iubeo te!  
(I command you!)  
Ab hoc loco non anima cape!  
(Take no souls from this place!)  
Angelus Mortis, redite ad Infernos!  
(Angel of Death, return to the Inferno!)  
Hic non mandatum habes!"  
(You have no errand here!")

Recognizing a true threat, the Angel of Death leaned forward towards Willow. Its eyes blazed a deep red, like glowing coals. It raised a robe enshrouded arm and pointed one of the crooked fingers at Willow. Suddenly she stopped reciting and grabbed at her throat as she begin to choke.

"Stop it! Release her now!" Giles yelled at the Angel of Death. It slowly turned its head, it's blazing eyes glaring at him.

"She is not part of the bargain! If you take her, then the deal is made!" Giles continued urgently to the Angel of Death, "And what will your Master say when He finds you have lost the chance to collect the soul of a Watcher? . . . and in exchange for the powerful soul of a cursed vampire, all you have to show for it is . . . this little apprentice Wiccan!"

The Angel of Death did not break its gaze at Giles. Finally it lowered its hand, and Willow dropped to the floor. She was pale and struggled to catch her breath.

"I thought you'd see it that way," Giles said sighing with relief, "Willow? Are you all right?"

"Damn it, Giles!" Willow managed to spit out as she lay gagging and crying on the stone floor.

"Good," Giles said reassured as he turned to the Angel of Death, "Let's get on with it. The soul of Angel will be returned as it was collected, free of the effects of its imprisonment."

The Angel of Death nodded in agreement.

"Lead me, then."

For a moment, Giles faced Buffy who still struggled to break out of her invisible prison.

"Giles, don't, please!" she begged, "I never meant it to be this way!"

Giles answered gently and without reproach.

"You left me only one choice, Buffy. As your Watcher, it's my first duty to protect you. I told you, you are the Slayer . . . you will not die."

"No! no . . . no . . . no . . ." she wept as she leaned against the invisible barrier.

"And now it is time for us to go our separate ways."

Buffy instantly recognized the death words of Socrates that Giles read to her the previous night when he was drunk. She threw herself against the barrier once more, her fists flailing wildly and hysterical tears running down her face.

"NO! NO! DAMN YOU, GILES!"

"I, to pass into that state which is death, . . . and you, to go on living."

Buffy thrashed against the barrier.

"DAMN YOU! NO! NO!"

"And which of us sets out upon the better path, is known only to God."

The Angel of Death turned and floated towards a wall of the central gallery. Giles followed close behind. He stopped for a moment, took off his glasses and set them on a small table.

"I don't suppose I'll be needing these anymore," he said whimsically.

As if passing through an invisible portal, the Angel of Death slid away into nothingness. As Giles strode to the same spot, he began to whistle the old Irish song, "The Minstrel Boy." The simple notes had an ironic, mournful sound that echoed in the hall.

"The minstrel boy to the war is gone,  
In the ranks of death ye will find him;  
His father's sword he hath girded on,  
And his wild harp slung behind him;"

Suddenly, the restraining spell around Buffy collapsed. In a final desperate act, she leaped from where she had been imprisoned in an effort to grab Giles before he could set foot into the invisible portal.

"The Minstrel fell! But the foeman's chain  
Could not bring his proud soul under;  
The harp he lov'd ne'er spoke again,  
For he tore its chords asunder."

As Giles followed after the Angel of Death, Buffy's fingers barely swept across the last disappearing tips of his rough tweed jacket. She dropped to the floor empty handed. Giles was gone, the notes of his whistled tune cut off in mid phrase.

Lying on the floor, Buffy looked up in front of her and saw only empty air where Giles stood moments before. The hall was silent. As Buffy rose up on her knees she glanced in agony around her. Willow lay crumpled on the floor, her hands drawn up against her chest, her fists clenched. She was slowly regaining her breath. Oz jumped to his feet and ran to her side.

Xander sat on the floor clutching his twisted arm. Cordelia struggled to help him as he rocked back and forth with the pain, but her efforts were clumsy at best. She tried to massage his arm tenderly, but Xander gave a little yelp. Confused, he looked wildly around him.

"Is Buffy okay? . . . " he called out to the other Scoobies, "Where's Giles? . . . What happened to Willow? Is she all right?"

"She's okay, Xander," Cordelia reassured him, "Willow and Buffy are both okay."

"What about Giles?"

Cordelia looked sadly at Xander and said nothing. He understood fully the meaning in her silence.

"Oh Cordy, I was such a jerk! I screwed up so bad again! Giles is right. All I do is screw up! I'm so stupid!"

"No! . . . I know he doesn't think that," she said, instinctively coming to his defense, "What you tried to do was . . ."

Cordelia couldn't finish the sentence. She caught a little sob in her throat. She couldn't believe she was actually on the verge of forgiving him. Realizing what she was doing, in anger, she swatted Xander hard but took care to avoid his bad arm.

"Damn it! I was just learning how to hate you!"

Xander looked up at Cordelia for a moment. He then hung his head and rubbed his eyes with his uninjured hand.

With the help of Oz, Willow slowly sat up, the color returning to her face. She could still see spots dancing before her eyes. She called over to Xander.

"Xander . . . are you okay?"

"Will?"

Looking around her, Willow spied the still form of Faith.

"Oh, no! Buffy! Xander! Faith's hurt real bad!"

"Oh, shit!" Xander swore as he struggled to his feet. Still clutching his arm, and, with Cordelia in tow, he limped over to where Faith lay. As he hobbled by Buffy, she gazed up at him, her eyes pleading for something, any kind of recognition but he refused to acknowledge her presence. He and Cordelia knelt down beside Faith. Cordelia pulled a wad of tissues out of her purse and used them as a makeshift bandage to staunch the flow of blood from Faith's head.

Finally Faith opened her eyes and groaned.

"Oh, man . . . that you Cords?" she muttered, raising her hand to her bleeding forehead.

Xander and Cordelia both breathed a sigh of relief.

"Yeah, don't move, Faith," Cordelia said as she applied light pressure to the cut above Faith's eye.

"You gotta lend me some of your makeup," Faith grinned slightly, "This is gonna be one hell of a shiner!"

"You aren't kidding," Cordelia replied as she examined the bruise now growing on Faith's face, "But don't worry. Nothing I can't handle."

"Relax, Faith," Xander added with pride, "She's a pro."

Cordelia grinned at Xander.

"Thank you . . . you pig."

Xander smiled but hung his head shamefully again. Willow, now sitting, shifted as if to stand but Oz restrained her.

"No, Will, don't. You'll pass out."

She looked up at Oz. He clearly still adored her, and she saw it in his eyes. She felt the unspoken answer to her prayers in her bedroom and began sobbing.

"Oh, Oz. . . What are we doing wrong?" she wailed, "Everything's falling apart . . . you, me, Xander, Cordelia . . . and now we've lost Giles. What are we going to do?"

Oz held Willow in his arms, and she buried her face in his shoulder.

"What we do best, Will," he said into her soft red hair. She lifted her head off his shoulder. They looked at each other straight in the eyes.

"Never give up," he said as she hugged him again.

As if in a daze, Buffy finally stood and walked alone over to the small table where Giles' glasses were sitting. She reached down, picked them up and held them in her hands, gently rubbing the worn gold rims with her fingers. A tear built up at the corner of one of her eyes and rolled slowly down her cheek.

A gentle shimmering of light appeared a few feet in front of her. Gradually a physical form began materializing in its beams. Details of the shape grew more specific with each passing moment. The light suddenly was extinguished leaving the fully materialized form in its place. It was Angel.

For a moment he gazed straight ahead, clearly disoriented. Then he looked down at his hands and began tentatively rubbing them together as if the feel of flesh and skin were a sensation almost totally forgotten. He looked back up and saw Buffy staring at him.

"Buffy?"

Buffy didn't answer or move towards him. Instead, she clutched Giles' glasses tighter in her hands and placed them gently against her chin. She closed her eyes, yielding to the horrors of the last twenty-four hours as the tears ran down her cheeks.

". . . no . . . no, Giles . . ." she whispered through her sobs.

Bewildered, Angel stared at the chaos around him. Willow lay weeping in Oz's arms. He then saw Cordelia, her hands now stained with Faith's blood, trying to stop the flow running down Faith's face. His astonished gaze finally fell on Buffy.

"Oh God . . . Buffy! . . . " he said slowly in shock, "What did you do? . . . What's happened here!"

She didn't answer but only stood shivering, her body short circuiting from the overflow of emotions. The next thing she remembered was a violent crash of building demolition as she stood outside the gates of the Dearborn mansion two days later.

A wrecking ball swung against the upper floor of the structure. With a loud thump, it punched through the wall, shattering windows and forcing hidden support beams out from under the stucco and into the sun. One wall tottered and tipped back in on itself as the upper story collapsed. Fragments of brick and stucco rained down onto the driveway and grass below.

Beyond the gate, Buffy stood watching the demolition. She winced slightly as the wrecking ball smashed into the mansion walls. Otherwise her face was a mask of passive resignation. Faith, her forehead bandaged, stood a few feet from her. She, too, couldn't take her eyes off the destruction taking place.

Cordelia's red convertible was parked at the street corner. Cordelia leaned up against the driver's door. She hadn't wanted to come since there seemed to be no purpose to it. She watched Buffy and Faith intently. As more of the mansion came down in a rain of debris, she lowered her head and sighed.

A few yards away from Cordelia, Willow sat on the curb with her back turned to the demolition. Her head rested in her hands and her elbows were perched on her knees. Lost in thought with her brow deeply furrowed., she gave no hint she was even aware of the crashing timbers and falling masonry behind her.

Finally Faith walked up beside Buffy.

"Come on 'B.' Let's get outta here."

"No . . . I have to watch it all," Buffy said, her feet rooted to the spot.

". . . He made his choice, 'B," Faith said as she tried to break through the invisible wall Buffy had now thrown up around herself. "It was his last act. He did it for you . . . for all of us. He wouldn't want us hanging out here."

Buffy stared silently at the crumbling mansion.

"I know you would have stopped him if you could," Faith prodded, "We all would have. We tried, but we had no idea he was going to . . ."

"No, . . . I did. He tried to tell me," Buffy interrupted, never taking her gaze off the demolition.

Faith stared at Buffy in disbelief.

"The night Scott died, Giles got drunk. He never drank, at least not when we were around. I should have picked up on it right there. I thought he was trying to hurt me. Like he was angry at what I had done . . . at what I was going to do. But really he was telling me, in his Giles kind of way, what length he was willing to go to . . . to save me . . . from myself.

Buffy finally turned to look at Faith.

"I wasn't listening."

The wrecking ball swung again, and the last remnants of the second floor crashed down onto the driveway.

". . . He said I wouldn't die . . ."

Faith and Buffy looked at each other in silence for a few moments. A bulldozer began scooping up the construction debris around the shattered mansion, its metal teeth scraping loudly against the concrete and wood timbers.

Faith wrapped her arms around Buffy and the two Slayers hugged one another. Still sitting on the curb, Willow gave a loud huff and, with a look of resolve on her face, rose to her feet. She marched over to Cordelia.

"Okay, I don't care what you think of me," she announced to the head cheerleader, "But we've hung around here long enough!"

"Oooh, 'stern face,'" Cordelia popped back.

"Cordelia, truce? Okay?" Willow brushed off the Xander like remark. "We got some big-time research on our hands."

Cordelia thought for a moment.

"This was like, pretty final, Willow," She said after a moment. "You really think there's anything we can do?"

"I don't know. But did that ever stop Giles?"

Cordelia smiled faintly and shook her head.

"I guess not. . ." she admitted, "Nothing ever stopped Giles . . . except maybe a bop on the head! . . . he always found the answer."

"And we will, too. We just have to stick together no matter what we feel. Let's go."

The next objective in Willow's strategy was the Slayers. She and Cordelia paraded over to Buffy and Faith who were still in each other's arms.

"Hey, huggy bears, ditch the 'moment,'" she announced, "We're going into serious research mode here."

Faith and Buffy turned in disbelief to look at Willow.

"Well?" Willow demanded, her red hair shining in the brilliant southern California sun.

"Willow, Giles is dead!" Buffy objected, "We gotta accept that."

"No, we don't!" Willow snapped back, "And I won't!"

She paused as she collected her thoughts.

"Guys, I made a decision just now. Until we get Giles back, . . . I'm taking over . . . as Watcher."

For a moment, Buffy, Faith and Cordelia stared at her as if she had just announced she had appointed herself Mayor of Sunnydale.

"What?' Buffy finally spat out as she shook her head in disbelief. But Willow had anticipated that reaction. Those few moments sitting on the curb had allowed her to organize her thoughts.

"Buffy, I know the oath," she said carefully so the others could follow,"I know the deal, I can even read some of Giles' books. And somebody's gotta pull this all back together . . . or we'll all fall apart for good . . . and we'll never get him back."

"Shouldn't we, like, wait for the Council or whatever to send out a new Watcher?" Faith said, scratching her head.

"Oh, yeah, right! And how long's that gonna take?" Willow answered.

The others were silent for a moment.

"I'm the one that's gotta do it," she continued, "Who else is there? Oz? . . . or Xander?"

Cordelia burst out laughing but quickly covered her mouth with her hand.

"The only one else who knows enough stuff about it is Angel," Willow said as she glared at Buffy who turned her head away. Faith crinkled her face in disgust.

"That'd be kinkier than even I could handle."

"I'm the only one guys," Willow summed up her proposal, "It's either that, or we lose everything."

For the first time, Willow looked directly at the demolition of the old mansion.

"If we walk away from here today, let our squabbles separate us, then everything we've fought for . . . all our sacrifices . . . all of Scott and Giles' sacrifices . . . all the stuff that hurts us so bad, . . . and the stuff that makes us laugh . . . that makes us what we are . . . we can kiss it all goodbye."

Buffy stared down at the ground, pondering what Willow said. Then the Slayer slowly looked back up at her best friend.

"Will . . . " she asked quietly, "Can you do this? Are you . . . strong enough?"

"Buffy, I have to do this," Willow answered, ". . . Can you?"

Buffy looked intently at Willow. She then stood up straight in front of Willow almost as if standing at attention. Buffy then nodded in agreement. Faith stepped up close beside Buffy and smiled at Willow.

"You're one gutsy chick," she admitted.

"You don't know Red, here, like I do," Buffy said, "She's more than gutsy."

"Okay, we're in!" Faith announced, "What's the deal?"

"Okay, let's get back to the library," Willow start dishing out orders, "Cordelia, you'll chase down Xander and Oz. And we'll need to get the phone pool going for this evening."

"Will, you have any idea where we're gonna start?" Buffy asked.

"Oh yeah!" Willow answered, her subdued response unable to conceal the seething anger, "On the way back, we're gonna pay a little courtesy call . . . on Ethan Rayne!"

At the mention of Ethan's name, Buffy's eyes blazed with fury. She gritted her teeth and clenched her fists. Faith noticed the sudden transformation and cracked a smile.

"Hey . . . " she said poking Buffy, "You're angry! This is good! This is a good thing! We got healing going on here now!"

Faith eyed Willow and saw the determined look on her face.

"Her, too!" Faith laughed to Cordelia, "Wow! I think I'm gonna get angry! This'll be great! What about you, Cords?"

"Easy, Faith," Cordelia said raising her hands defensively, "Somebody's gotta be the designated driver."

All four turned to head back to the car. For the first time in days, there was strength and unity among the Scoobies. As they climbed into the convertible, Faith and Buffy settled in the back seat, Willow and Cordelia in front. Cordelia started the engine and tapped the gas pedal several times. The engine rpm's raced in response.

"Hey, Cords!" Faith sang out, "We gotta stop at the Ice Cream Palace after our little visit to Mr. Ethan. I get a funny feeling I'm gonna be real . . . hungry. How 'bout you 'B' ?"

"Yeah . . . I know I'm gonna be real . . . hungry," Buffy agreed.

For a moment, the car sat unmoving at the curb.

"Wow! You do sound hungry," Faith said to Buffy, "'Course you don't know what real hungry is. Now that time in Boston on the bus . . ."

"Are you telling me, I don't get as hungry as you?" Buffy interrupted what seemed like the hundredth time Faith had told the story. Faith took the bait.

"'B', I get hungry just thinking about getting hungry!"

"Hey, guys could you stuff it!" Cordelia complained, "Now I'm getting hungry."

"Cordelia, you're always hungry," Buffy said.

"Shut up, Buffy!"

Cordelia rammed the shift into first and almost popped the clutch as she pulled her convertible out into the street. As the car drove off into the distance, Buffy and Faith couldn't stop arguing.

"'B', nobody gets hungrier than me. I invented hungry!"

"Do I hear a challenge! Listen you wus, you may have invented it, but I'm the head  
Slayer and I defined hungry!"

"Okay! That's it! Chase, pull this Toymotor over! We're settling this now!"

"HEY!" Willow yelled as she spun around to confront the bickering Slayers..

Buffy and Faith, stunned by Willow's outburst, sat silently, their mouths open.

"Will you two shut up! . . . Willow snapped, then said meekly, "You're making me . . . hungry."

There was a sound of giggling from the back seat.

"Sorry, Will," Buffy said.

FINIS  
(09/98 - 02/99, 12/10)

A note at the end:

There is a sequel titled The Descent to Avernus which, like the Better Path, first appeared on the Slayer Fanfic Archive at the close of season 3 in 1999 and has long been unavailable. It too was in script format and I am beginning the novelization as I write this.

After suffering the tragic loss of her Watcher, Buffy and the Scooby Gang must launch a rescue effort that will take them to the very depths of Hell, into the Demon Dimension itself and beyond. Win or lose, they will not be returning to their world. Look for the first parts in the coming weeks. Thank you for reading and please share a review.

pax,  
Petronius


End file.
